


In the Business of Love

by redroseinsanity



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fake Dating, Fluff, Is this Slow Burn, Light Angst, M/M, Or am I just in hell, Post-Canon, accidental KiyoYachi, don't ask me how it happened it was fate moving my hand, i can't tell, magazine writer! Iwaizumi, manga artist! Oikawa, oh my god they were roommates, side MatsuHana - Freeform, to a small extent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-05 23:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redroseinsanity/pseuds/redroseinsanity
Summary: Meet Oikawa Tooru: He's a best-selling shoujo manga artist, a hardcore romantic and you won't believe where he's getting his lovey dovey fodder from...Enter Iwaizumi Hajime: He's Oikawa's best friend, a realist who also happens to be a wedding magazine writer despite not believing in romance...One thing anyone in the business knows is that the course of true love never did run smooth.A rom com in four acts.





	1. I don't think I can let this moment go

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will come weekly but the day and time depend on when my work schedule allows. Once a week though, I promise. We’ll be done by the end of September ^^  
Chapter title comes from Catey Shaw’s [ Night Go Slow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acYpxd17eIc'%20rel=) which is the soundtrack for the first half of this chapter!

**Pre-Wedding Jitters or Actual Doubts: Marrying the Right Person**

** __ ** _By Iwaizumi Hajime_

_12 Jan 2016_

Getting cold feet just before your big day is pretty normal and you can cure your pre-wedding jitters by spending some quality time with your partner and taking a break from the wedding preparations. However, sometimes your unease may stem from something more serious than the notion of a big change in your life or the stress of wedding planning. If you are having serious doubts about getting married, then it may be time to re-evaluate your situation.

Is it too soon? Or are you simply committing yourself to the wrong person? In this day and age whereby people are sharing their lives more freely on social media, it is possible that you’ve been pressured into finding ‘the one’ prematurely. It’s time to ask yourself if you’ve really found your soulmate and what true love means to you.

Read more…

. . .

"You're the light of my existence, the dawn of my life, everything begins with you, because of you and for you. I love you and I can't imagine life without you," Oikawa told the broad expanse of Iwaizumi's back, knuckles white from where his fingers were clamped tight over the edge of their kitchen counter. 

For a few achingly long moments, there was only a drawn-out silence and all Oikawa could hear was the sizzling of their yakisoba in the pan as he counted the seconds to the pops of oil.

Iwaizumi turned with spatula in hand, wearing a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron that originally belonged to Oikawa, and perplexed frown on his tan face.

"That was awful, Crappykawa, it's a guide to wedding vows not on how to drown their partners with cheese before they say 'I do'."

Disappointment chased relief in a flicker as Oikawa pouted, eyes alight with mischief and expression belying nothing but light-hearted teasing.

"Mean, Iwa-chan!" He swung his legs slightly from his perch on the solid wooden countertop, "You're the one who asked me for help because your barbarian brain doesn't understand the concept of romance!"

"I didn't ask for your help," Iwaizumi deadpanned, turning back to the stove and adding the omelette to their dinner, "I just told you that my next article was a guide to writing good wedding vows and you took that as an invitation to start spouting nonsense about lights and dawns and whatnot."

"Fine," Oikawa huffed, sticking a tongue out at his best friend, "See if I ever help you with your work ever again. I don't even know how a cynic is working at the biggest wedding magazine in Tokyo. Tell the truth, Iwa-chan, did you lie at the interview?" He narrowed his eyes at the back of his housemate’s head before hopping off the counter and opening a cupboard.

"First off, I'm not a cynic, I just don't believe in all that great romance nonsense. Love is love and that's it, there's no need for extravagant showy shit that might not last. The stuff you see on TV and in books are often exaggerated," Iwaizumi switched off the fire and held out his hand, in which Oikawa promptly placed a plate.

"Also, I've been working at _I Do_ for three years, you'd think that if I lied at the interview, they'd have been able to tell by now." Iwaizumi continued, swapping the now omu-yakisoba loaded plate for the empty one that Oikawa handed him without so much as glancing up from the pan. 

Like clockwork, Oikawa lifted the pan to the sink the moment Iwaizumi was done dishing, and began scrubbing, one stray brown lock of hair bouncing as he worked while the cook put on the finishing touches.

"How are you so popular with readers?" Oikawa muttered as he rinsed the soap from the pan, "Do these brides and romantics know that the great Iwaizumi-san doesn't believe in very basis of marriage?" His voice dropped to a hushed, horrified whisper, flinging a few drops of water up as he lifted a soapy hand to cover his mouth and stare at Iwaizumi reproachfully.

"They'll be devastated," Oikawa informed him.

"What's really devastating is if I ‘accidentally’ drop your dinner on the floor," Iwaizumi warned, carrying the dishes to the dark mahogany table they’d scrounged from a second-hand store, "And anyway, they don't like my articles because they fuel fantasies are _not_ the basis of marriage, they like my articles because I give good advice and that's that."

Hurriedly wiping his hands, Oikawa dashed out and plonked himself in front of his plate, grinning broadly when he saw the alien face that Iwaizumi had drawn in sauce and mayo on his omu-yakisoba.

Then he reached over with his chopsticks and swiftly stole a bite off Iwaizumi's plate.

"Oi, what the heck, Assikawa, we're literally eating the same thing," Iwaizumi swatted his hand away half a beat too late.

"I know," Oikawa beamed brightly, "But it tastes better from your plate. And also, I don't want to spoil my cute alien."

Across the table, Iwaizumi dragged a hand across his face.

"You idiot, you only get alien faces cause you refused to eat your food unless your mother drew them for you when you were like, nine and fifteen years later, you’re still a spoiled brat. If you don't eat it cause it's too cute, I'll stop drawing them!"

Almost immediately, Oikawa dug in to his food, carefully skirting around the drawing as much as he could, scowling at the darker haired man while he ate. In the warm lighting of their dining room, Iwaizumi looked just as he did back when they were thirteen and squabbling about nonsense, his dark hair just slightly more close cut and his features sharpened with maturity. _Like comparing a blurred-out photo with a high definition one,_ Oikawa mused as his gaze scraped over his best friend and housemate.

"If you're going to be a baby then I won't tell you what Shimizu-san told me today," Iwaizumi calmly brought another bite of yakisoba to his lips.

“Let me guess, she said that I was incredibly handsome and wanted you to set us up?" Oikawa's smile turned sly. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes but didn’t rise to the bait, opting instead to wait until he knew Oikawa would be dying from curiosity but too proud to actually ask. There was a pregnant pause as Oikawa fidgeted with the hem of his thin slouchy tee that said ‘I need my personal space’ in block letters with a UFO printed at the top, and Iwaizumi timed three breaths, a smirk tilting the corners of his mouth.

"She said the groom fashion piece was good," Iwaizumi finally said, the smirk giving way to a small but genuine, warm smile that made Oikawa stab his chopsticks straight into the eye of his alien sauce drawing by accident.

"She was really pleased about the option to switch it up with suspenders too, so yeah, thanks for the tips you gave." Oikawa just about massacred the other alien eye, haphazardly poking at his food in an attempt to seem as though he was eating properly.

"You see, this is why I offered my help earlier!" Oikawa declared, cheeks slightly pink, "You need the master of love to help you! The great Oikawa-sama will offer his assistance," he swept an arm out in a grand gesture, narrowly missing sending their water jug off the table.

Moving the pitcher away from Oikawa, Iwaizumi sent him a wry look.

"Uh huh, this is why I didn't want to tell you. Besides, I only asked for your help with that piece because you're the only idiot I know who actually keeps up with fashion trends.”

“Why must you hurt me like this, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sniffed, going back to eating and ignoring the pleased sensation that trickled down his spine, a chilled, sweet satisfaction that made him fight a smile even as he chewed.

“Whether or not I ask for it, you still give me your opinion about whatever I’m writing anyway,” Iwaizumi grinned, “Must be the hazards of living with Tokyo’s most popular _shoujo_ _manga_ author.”

In response, Oikawa threw up a peace sign, trying to make his signature cutesy face around a mouthful of fantastic yakisoba and giving up, settled on beaming around puffed up cheeks instead.

He looked like a mutant chipmunk cosplaying the matchmaker from Mulan thanks to the dark sauce stains around his mouth and as Iwaizumi sucked in a breath to laugh, he nearly choked on his food and had to clear his throat. Barely swallowing the mouthful he was chewing, Iwaizumi chuckled into his plate, murmuring something along the lines of “very glamorous”.

From where they sat at the dining table, the twilight strains of light spilled into their tiny balcony and down a straight line to brush at their features. The soft rays of light held them there at the table, suspended in an illuminated bubble that, for a second or two, seemed like a still from a movie.

A flare of pride lit in Oikawa as he watched Iwaizumi's eyes crinkle with mirth and in that yawning second, it bloomed into a warmth that bordered on a burn, forcing a bittersweet inhale. He wanted to lean back, to take in the way the fragrance of Iwaizumi's home cooking lingered in the air, the way it felt to have his knee occasionally brush his best friend's, the way the former ace looked when he laughed, a sunrise spreading across his face, to _pause_ this frame.

It was easy banter, the kind that flowed as a stream through a well-worn channel - their chemistry had long been moulded into an ease that padded their every breath. Instances like these made Oikawa want to snap a photo and put it up on the wall, as though he could capture the exact texture of their evening along with it; the way he could smell Iwaizumi’s shower gel and the knowledge that if he wanted to, he could reach out across the table and feather a fingertip over that scar Iwaizumi got when he was fourteen. As though by framing it up, he would be able to point to it and say, _Look, look at us_, familiar gazes and the scent of home, _look at how perfect we are, how perfect we can be._

Instead, he made a remark about Matsukawa’s latest feline addition to his home and pulled his phone out to point to Iwaizumi just how adorable the toe beans on this kitty were.

They ate the rest of dinner to the music of cars passing by below and the evening chatter of birds, with Iwaizumi watching the people on the street outside and making up funny stories about each one, and Oikawa stealing looks at the person people-watching.

. . .

“There’s no way Jar Jar Binks is meant as an ironic character,” Iwaizumi stressed, taking another bite of his ice cream, “He’s comic relief!”

“He’s meant to represent the ordinary man!” Oikawa argued, waving his cone of mint chocolate chip threateningly in his best friend’s face, “Plus there have been papers discussing his portrayal as racist so even if he’s not ‘ironic’ he’s definitely not just comic relief!”

When Iwaizumi opened his mouth to rebut, Oikawa unceremoniously jammed his ice cream so close to the other’s lips that he felt cone hit teeth.

“Try this, doesn’t it taste more minty than normal?”

Iwaizumi frowned and reared back a little in an attempt for a more civilised taste of the bright green ice cream, wordlessly holding his own up to Oikawa so that he could try the strawberry and basil sorbet as well.

Despite the blazing afternoon sun, their ice creams were hardly melting thanks to the relatively cool temperature and the generous shade offered by the overhead canopy. They were sitting on their favourite bench in the city park - conveniently located near Iwaizumi’s office in the central business district - and looking out at the ducks in the algae-y pond.

Sequestered in a quieter part of the sprawling green premises, the bench was a far cry from the ornate pavilions and novelty bridges or carefully cultivated rose bushes that usually drew people. Instead, the walk in was paved by mammoth trees, dripping with flowers as large as Oikawa’s palm and the bench itself was hidden away by a hedge dotted with tiny blue flowers so pale that they often looked ivory.

They’d found this spot two years ago, the day Iwaizumi’s dog had passed away. He’d gotten the call at work and he remembered leaning against the ceramic sink in the men’s room, fighting to sound calm as his mother sobbed on the phone, her distress coming in waves over the line. It wasn’t unexpected seeing as the family pet had been around for a good fifteen years and had been looking a little more tired every day for the past month.

It had been swift, as painless as possible and as good an end as Iwaizumi could have hoped for, but that didn’t make it any less painful. It didn’t make losing her any less difficult. He’d stood, chest heaving as he grappled to compose himself, wishing that he could go home to Miyagi to say a proper goodbye before they cremated her, but knowing that he wouldn’t get there fast enough.

For one of the first times since moving to Tokyo, he had cursed the distance he’d put between himself and his childhood home. He’d kept swearing as he took deep breaths that threatened to turn into shuddering ones, jaw clenching as he gathered himself and headed back to work.

He’d made it to lunchtime somehow, he didn’t even remember what or how he wrote but his fingers hit the keys on autopilot, eyes moving glassily across the screen and then he had stumbled out of the office building not knowing where he was going but just knowing he had needed to get out.

And there had stood Oikawa, just outside the lobby doors with a sombre look in his eyes and his mouth pulled down at the corners. He hadn’t even told Oikawa, but someone must have because when Iwaizumi shuffled out of his office, the former setter had been waiting with a tub of Iwaizumi’s favourite ice cream flavour in a cooler bag and a steady hand that found its way to Iwaizumi’s back.

Cool fingers had wrapped around his wrist and drawn him forward.

“Come on, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa had murmured, and Iwaizumi had just followed; allowed his best friend to lead him to a secluded spot drenched in emerald sunlight that filtered through verdant foliage, and let himself leak tears and grief onto the soft cotton of Oikawa’s shoulder.

They had polished off the tub with spoons that Oikawa had brought from home, trading fond memories of the fluffball that had been a constant source of laughter for a good portion of their childhood. Iwaizumi had gone back to work with red rimmed eyes and a blocked nose, bolstered by a sugar high and rid of the suffocating weight that had sat on his chest the entire morning.

Before they knew it, The Bench soon became another fraction of the city that they made theirs, pulling it into a routine of sorts.

Oikawa would receive a text, “Ice cream in the park?” and he would instantly know that the other was having a shitty day. There had been occasions whereby Iwaizumi would step out of the building to be greeted with a mopey Oikawa clutching a plastic bag and he would immediately excuse himself from his colleagues, telling them to have lunch without him.

Other times, Iwaizumi had taken one look at the slope of Oikawa’s shoulders at home and fished out the keys from the dish beside the door with one hand, tugging the other across the threshold with the other hand. There wasn’t much ice cream couldn’t fix and they were usually able to catch a bad day before it morphed into a truly horrendous one. When Iwaizumi’s voice took on a certain tone while he was on the phone – Oikawa knew exactly which one – he would get them to the bench with ice cream as soon as he could, teasing the frustration out until the lines in his best friend’s forehead had smoothened.

That bench had seen them through Oikawa’s douchebag of a first agent and Iwaizumi’s multiple annoying clients, had borne the frustrations of rejected pitches and painful edits, had tasted more ice cream flavours than it should have, although given the amount of violent gesturing that usually took place with ice cream in hand, it was surprisingly less than expected.

It had then inched into an even more regular thing after they’d discovered a spectacular ice cream shop in the vicinity. A small parlour run by a young girl along with her mother, who diligently crafted each and every flavour herself, sometimes experimenting to deliver a brilliant concoction that she had ingeniously created.

Iwaizumi had gone once with his colleagues and then dragged Oikawa there that very weekend. Thankfully, the girl, Yachi, had seemed more focused on producing stellar ice cream and trying not to be intimidated by Oikawa than charmed by him and Iwaizumi immediately awarded it another star in his mind.

They had emerged from the little ice cream parlour, too crowded for them to sit there and wandered a little way from the shopfront, thoroughly immersed in their flavours. Then Oikawa had turned, eyes shining in a way that had made something unnameable blossom in Iwaizumi's chest.

"Ice cream at the bench?" He quoted one of a dozen similar messages, sugar stained lips quirking into a smile Iwaizumi had only ever seen directed at him. Iwaizumi hadn’t bothered to reply, had just grinned and started off in a familiar direction.

Before they knew it, it had become as comforting a routine as the one that had engendered it, with them automatically drifting to the park, finding themselves back at the same place under the watchful eye of branches that swayed in the breeze and littered flowers on the pavement.

Sometimes it was a great way to end a night, they'd be coming out from a late-night show and one would turn to the other: "Ice cream on the bench?" Regardless of where they were in Tokyo, they'd find their way there, stopping by anywhere that was open to get the mandatory ice cream if they knew their favourite parlour was closed.

Sometimes, they'd go during Iwaizumi's lunch break or after work, regardless of how good or bad their moods were. Then there were occasions such as this one, whereby the two had met separate groups of friends for lunch and one had texted the other about post lunch plans. They'd met to run some errands, buying lightbulbs and a new shower curtain but it was almost a gravitational pull, the way in which late afternoon had them nestled back on the wooden bench with a cone in hand.

Making a happy sound at the back of his throat, Oikawa reeled Iwaizumi’s cone back in for another taste, ignoring the half-hearted grumble that it elicited.

“I love ice cream so much,” he sighed, “I love sugar so, so much, I would just eat all sorts of sweet treats for the rest of my life if I could. I would write odes to mochi, sonnets about the creaminess of my ice cream, spend the rest of my life professing my undying devotion to milk bread.”

Beside him, Iwaizumi stifled a laugh and then straightened, as though he’d just remembered something.

“Hey, want to pretend we’re engaged? I need to do an undercover review of a wedding cake shop so you can just come as my fiancé and they won’t suspect a thing. They have a tasting session next weekend if you want free cake,” Iwaizumi threw out offhandedly, nibbling his cone.

Oikawa had stopped processing after the words, “come as my fiancé” and helplessly, he watched a drop of mint chocolate chip hit the ground as a fiery blush rose, unbidden, to paint his face a deep red. Desperately willing the colour to subside, he replayed the entire sentence in his head and coughed to get nothing out of his throat.

“Yeah,” he squeaked.

“You okay? You’re looking a bit flushed,” Iwaizumi was staring at him curiously and Oikawa grinned brightly, hating the blood vessels and capillaries in his face.

“I’m good! Just a little warm here, maybe we should head home soon! We should change the light bulb before it gets dark,” he babbled. Thankfully that seemed to pacify Iwaizumi who nodded and went back to his strawberry and basil, eyes trained on a pair of ducks that appeared to be fighting in a flurry of wings.

Thankfully, Oikawa had returned to his normal shade by the time they strolled out of the park and passing a newsstand, he halted, tugging on Iwaizumi’s sleeve.

“I’m in this magazine!” Iwaizumi turned to study the cover of the publication that Oikawa was pointing out and his eyebrows knit slightly.

“Didn’t you already buy a copy? I thought I saw this on the coffee table the other day,” he asked.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa was already dragging him away to the train station, “I didn’t think you noticed! You never read my interviews!”

“You give an interview a month and come back complaining that they ask the same questions,” Iwaizumi defended himself, “And then you buy the magazines as soon as they come out and hide them in your room. Anyway, doesn’t that just mean I just need to read one interview and it more or less covers them all?” he glanced up to see Oikawa’s pout.

“I don’t need to be proud of you, you’re proud enough for the both of us anyway,” he teased, watching as Oikawa’s mouth dropped open to an expression of playful indignation, “Okay, but really, just leave them on the coffee table and I’ll look through, you know I’ll forget if you keep them in your room.”

“You brute,” Oikawa’s eyes were dancing now, “I’ll have you know that I have a television interview scheduled in the coming month,” he tossed his head, “I’ll be a TV superstar for the day!”

“Wait really?” Iwaizumi dropped the teasing in favour of sincere delight, “That’s amazing, ‘Kawa! Congrats, you idiot, I’m really proud of you.” He slung an arm around Oikawa and pulled him in for a side hug, the genuine pride in his voice enough to make the artist shed his mock anger in exchange for a blissful smile.

He stayed glued to his best friend’s side afterward, draping himself over Iwaizumi’s shoulders and purposely adding weight so that it was hard for the shorter man to walk properly, ducking light blows while laughing.

. . .

_Dear Oikawa-san,_

_I’m writing to tell you how much I appreciate your portrayal of Sukeru as a character. You’ve perhaps revolutionised the Shoujo Manga genre by giving us someone who, by right I would hate and yet, making her so lovable, rather than the usual leads. As a character with flaws, who makes mistakes although she wants to do her best, she’s just like everyone else. And yet, despite occasionally frustrating me with all her pettiness and stubbornness at times, it’s very comforting that someone as wonderful as Hitoshi sees the good in her and loves her for it, because as someone who sees much of myself in her (problematic and annoying), I am hopeful that I’ll meet my own Hitoshi who loves me, flaws and all._

_Warm regards,_

_Watanabe Hiromi_


	2. Live in my heart if you want to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Pale Waves’ [ There's A Honey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zfPZ6hukcw8) which plays in Oikawa’s head every time he’s near Iwa imo
> 
> TW: Brief mentions of slight artistic anxiety in this chapter. It’s over fast, but just in case, you can stop at “Iwaizumi knew that something was wrong” and skip to “Did you know”. If you like, you can message me on Tumblr and I'll fill you in on what you missed!

**How to Bust That Wedding Stress**

** __ ** _By Iwaizumi Hajime_

_11 March 2018_

Wedding planning can be a stressful and long process which often takes a toll on couples as well as their relationships. What you should remember is that this is a once in a lifetime experience and rather than get worked up over the little things, you should try to enjoy yourselves as much as possible. The most crucial thing to keep in mind is not to let this strain your relationship.

After all, a wedding is the first big project that the two of you might be taking on together and handling it well is a good sign for a lifetime of other more exciting things that you can embark on as a team. Supporting each other, trying to understand the other person’s perspectives and letting them know that they can count on you goes a long way in building a good marriage, and…

Read more…

. . .

When Yahaba answered the door, Matsukawa was surprised to see their ordinarily composed kouhai looking slightly flustered, his wide eyes a tad unsettled even as he greeted them with a smile. Having captained the Seijou team in Oikawa’s wake, Matsukawa had honestly doubted that anything could shake Yahaba and yet…

“Yahaba-kun,” he drawled, offering a bottle of sake and turning slightly to reveal a crouched Hanamaki, slowly undoing his shoelaces, “Thanks for inviting us to your housewarming. Are Oikawa and Iwaizumi here yet? I think they said they’d be earlier than us.”

“Thank you for coming,” Yahaba replied smoothly, then he paused as though weighing something, “Oikawa-senpai and Iwaizumi-senpai arrived about twenty minutes ago.”

As he closed the door, Yahaba’s shoulders straightened, and then he turned with a slightly more anxious expression.

“Actually, you came at the right time, Oikawa-senpai and Iwaizumi-senpai are… They…” He opened and closed his mouth several times but failed to expound.

“They’re making out.” Matsukawa filled in, a cheeky grin playing on his lips. Yahaba shook his head, toffee eyes going even wider.

“They’re confessing their undying love for each other?” Hanamaki guessed in a sing-song voice, popping his head over Matsukawa’s shoulder and clicking his tongue, “Tsk, those crazy kids, never thinking of the children.”

“That’s why we have to be the responsible uncles,” the brunette grinned lazily, “Our team parents are too reckless for our innocent kouhai’s good.”

“No, no!” Yahaba waved his hands wildly, now more flustered than before, “It’s not that, they just- Nevermind, come and see.”

They rounded the corner into a wide living room connected to a kitchen by way of a huge island, giving the entire space a continuous, airy feel. Several other members of their old high school volleyball team had arrived and were scattered around, with Watari on the couch and Kindaichi positioned near the fridge, a juice carton in his hand.

But Kyoutani was the only one who flicked his gaze over to acknowledge his seniors’ arrival. Otherwise, all eyes were on their ex-captain and vice-captain, or at least, people who looked like them but surely couldn’t be.

Oikawa, their captain who had been forged from titanium, was curled in a heap on the ground, looking for all the world as though he had fallen off the couch, with tears streaking down his cheeks as he shuddered with silent laughter. Usually fastidious regarding his appearance, he appeared to be laughing so hard that it didn’t matter that his hair was getting mussed from where it rubbed against the couch, nor that his face was practically pressed into the floor.

A glance across showed their dauntless ace in no better state, his back pressed against the wall as though it had helped slow his gradual slump to the floor. Likewise, he wheezed so hard with laughter that he made no sound other than raggedly trying to catch his breath.

It was the tableau of a play, all attention directed to highlight these actors, their joy lighting them up better than any spotlight could as euphoria radiated from them. Taking a deep breath, he visibly reined himself in and straightened, looking more like the Iwaizumi they were used to with each inhale.

That is, until Oikawa lifted his head and their gazes interlocked for a split second. There was half a beat that Hanamaki swore went in slow motion when a brand of mischief no one had ever seen before spread out over Iwaizumi’s face and Oikawa’s eyes squinted in a smile brighter than any of those he’d given to magazine covers and newspaper articles, before they succumbed to another fit of laughter.

Kindaichi stood with juice slopped onto the kitchen counter, waiting to be wiped up as his eyes darted frantically between his two most admired seniors, expression hovering between horror and bewilderment as familiar figures morphed into complete strangers before his very eyes. Kyoutani had appeared at Yahaba’s elbow, his face a stoic mask although his lips were compressed into a thin line.

“I swear I didn’t even give them anything to drink,” he hissed at Yahaba who cast a beseeching look at Matsukawa and Hanamaki. From the wall, Iwaizumi gasped out, “Jelly special” only for Oikawa to let out a muffled bleat of laughter, more tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“This? Oh, this is normal,” Matsukawa announced offhandedly, taking a seat above the prone Oikawa.

“Yeah, they’ve been friends for so long that they have all these weird inside jokes that only they understand,” Hanamaki slung an arm around Kindaichi, injecting a note of hurt into his voice, “It’s so rude. Anyway, once they get like that, you just have to wait it out and don’t ever expect a coherent explanation of what it was.”

“I don’t think I want an explanation,” Kyoutani grumbled as he handed his senpais refreshments, although the crease between his eyebrows gradually disappeared with his seniors’ assurances.

True enough, the pair were back to normal a mere fifteen minutes later, with Oikawa alternating between brags about his media success and wheedling life updates out of his former teammates, and Iwaizumi deep in conversation with Kunimi about his current landlord.

But for the rest of the evening, Yahaba found that he couldn’t take his eyes off his ex-captain and vice-captain because although he’d known they were closer than the term ‘best friends’ could define, he hadn’t known (or maybe had forgotten) exactly how unique and baffling their relationship was.

Throughout his captaincy, he’d striven to achieve the same effortless chemistry that his predecessors had demonstrated on the court and while he’d achieved that to some extent, it had never even come close to the way Oikawa and Iwaizumi were practically in sync.

He watched with something akin to bewildered incredulity as Iwaizumi peeled a mandarin orange, popping alternate slices into Oikawa’s mouth even though they were engaged in completely different conversations. Somehow even without looking they functioned like two parts of a perfectly oiled machine, Iwaizumi only had to casually hold a slice diagonally upward and Oikawa would just as coolly lean over for it.

_They’re not dating, I know they’re not_, he frowned and then cocked his head, _but why does it feel like they are_?

_They’re not dating, they’re not dating_, he chanted in his head half an hour later as he tracked the two of them doing goddamn ballet in his kitchen. Okay, it wasn’t actually ballet, but the way in which they moved was a dance that had been refined and rehearsed over years of practice.

Oikawa handed a dirty plate to Iwaizumi who, against Yahaba and Kyoutani’s protests, had insisted on washing. Picking up a damp cloth, he neatly wiped down the little island in the kitchen in swift motions before literally twirling to exchange the dirty cloth with the clean plate. Oikawa started to dry the plate, Iwaizumi rinsed the cloth – there was no hesitation in their movements, every action was as fluid as the other’s and the next. In fact, Yahaba could’ve sworn they had eyes at the backs of their heads because of how they seemed to always know what the other was doing.

It wasn’t just that, the seamless movements and uncanny anticipation of each other’s next action, it was also the way that Iwaizumi had just looked up and around a while ago and Oikawa had simply smirked, handed his own drink over and gotten another for himself. Upon seeing Yahaba’s questioning expression, Oikawa had winked.

“That’s Iwa-chan’s expression when he’s looking for something to drink.”

After that Yahaba had given up. _Who the heck has a specific expression when looking for a drink?_ He had shrieked internally, _A drink?? And better still, who knows what someone else looks like when they’re thirsty?_

Yahaba liked to believe that he’d grown a lot and matured since his high school days, but as he waved goodbye to Iwaizumi holding a bag of leftovers and a sleepy Oikawa who had one arm wrapped across his best friend and face pillowed on a sturdy shoulder, he couldn’t help but feel as confused as he did all those years back. It was as though he was suddenly transported back to his high school gym, feeling that same wave of awe and surprise as the two of them made impossible hits across the court, finished each other’s sentences during team briefings and confounded everyone by referring to each other’s mothers and their own as ‘mama’.

They were among the last group to leave and staring at their retreating backs, he tugged on Kyoutani’s sleeve, leaning his head on his ace’s shoulder.

“Hey, do I have a specific expression when I’m thirsty?”

A pause.

“Do you what??”

. . .

Iwaizumi knew that something was wrong when there was complete silence from Oikawa’s end of the table. For the past ten minutes or so, Oikawa’s typing had gotten louder and faster, like a machine gun firing off multiple rounds. He knew this either meant that Oikawa was clutched by sudden inspiration or was facing a block, but the frigidity of this silence confirmed that it wasn’t the former.

Oikawa usually only got eerily quiet when he was scheming something or when he got so caught up in his own head that he forgot the world around him. Sure enough, when Iwaizumi glanced up and opposite him, he was presented with an Oikawa so stock-still he barely looked like he was breathing, eyes downcast and face expressionless.

Then he frowned, because Oikawa’s eyes weren’t just vacant, they were swirling the way dark clouds were tugged around the night sky just before a thunderstorm. Iwaizumi felt as though he were watching Oikawa chip away at himself from the inside, swinging a pickaxe until nothing but flawless glass exterior remained.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi called, mind already taking stock of how much milk bread they had in the kitchen and what ice cream flavours were in the fridge. But he might as well have been talking to a statue, Oikawa remained motionless, his shoulders a tense line and his breathing shallow.

“Oi, idiot,” Iwaizumi walked to his side, dropped into a crouch and peeked up into his best friend’s face. But his best friend wasn’t there. Warm brown eyes had turned into murky whirlpools and Iwaizumi could make out his Oikawa being tugged down with the current, pulled away by whatever he was fixating on.

Grasping Oikawa’s wrist, Iwaizumi gave a gentle shake, “Hey, Tooru, talk to me. I promise that whatever it is, it’s not as bad as it seems in your head.”

The whirlpools vanished into limpid puddles that reflected an endless grey, the way it is when you look out of the window just before it pours and the sky is a bleak eternity, and Oikawa’s fingers twitched as though seeking to hold on and anchor himself to something.

Iwaizumi set his jaw and waited.

“Do you ever feel like it’s nothing?” Oikawa’s voice was so soft he could have been talking to himself. His eyes remained fixed on something Iwaizumi couldn’t see while anguish etched itself along the planes of his face, carving itself into lines that Oikawa usually sought to avoid (“I’m twenty four and unlike you, Iwa-chan, I’m too young to have wrinkles!).

“Do you ever feel like it’s all for naught? When you write? Do you ever feel like it disappears into a void and it’s gone forever with nothing to show for it?” Oikawa pulled in a shuddering breath like he was clawing for air in an ocean he didn’t remember dropping into.

“Because it feels like I’m feeding it my soul and it’s never enough,” he gasped, “I’m writing and it feels like it’ll never-” he broke off, chest heaving as he fought himself while Iwaizumi rubbed circles on Oikawa’s elbow.

“You haven’t been sleeping enough again, have you?” Iwaizumi growled, arms moving to support Oikawa as he sagged in his chair. Oikawa had insecurities just like everyone else, coupled with artistic anxiety but he usually dealt with them well on his own. Only when he was sleep deprived or under an uncharacteristic amount of stress did he start to crumble under the weight of his own thoughts.

Chancing a glance back at their laptops, Iwaizumi saved whatever Oikawa had been working on and then nudged him up.

“Enough work, let’s watch something, okay?” He half carried half dragged Oikawa up and deposited him on their couch, flinging a throw over him and watching as he made himself comfortable on auto-pilot, tucking his long legs in and pulling the blanket higher. Turning to get something sweet, Iwaizumi heard the movement of fabric as Oikawa’s hand shot out to latch onto his pinky.

“I’m just going to get food, dumbass, I’ll be back in thirty seconds. Here,” he put the remote in strong slender fingers, “Pick something to watch.”

By the time Iwaizumi saved his work, grabbed some milk bread, chocolate and mochi, Oikawa had a cooking show going although his eyes were fixed on his toes rather than the screen.

Plonking himself down next to him, Iwaizumi unwrapped a chocolate bar and popped half of it into Oikawa’s mouth, and ate the other half.

With a sigh, Oikawa curled into Iwaizumi like a puppy, fingers pressing at the milk bread to create little indents that rose and got squished down again.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi’s fingers tripped along the length of Oikawa’s forearm until they found his elbow and he began to rub circles around the joint, “Your manga is one of the most popular in the genre,” Onscreen someone’s rice caught fire, “You get a good amount of fanmail with some even being international. Of course people love what you create, how could they not?”

They put out the fire but the contestant was immediately disqualified, and Iwaizumi could feel Oikawa’s shoulders jutting into his arm as he sat crouched and leaning into Iwaizumi.

“Yeah, but what do I know about love? Even you say love portrayed in media is unrealistic, maybe I’m just writing nonsense,” Oikawa whispered, eyes refusing to meet Iwaizumi’s and it felt as though a sick weight had dropped into Iwaizumi’s stomach. He had been callous and the fact that his own unthinking remarks had made Oikawa feel like his work wasn’t appreciated turned guilt and horror into a roiling pit in his belly.

Without even looking at his setter, Iwaizumi was aware that at this point, the television was simply white noise, a faint breeze's whisper trying to be heard in a howling storm.

"Did you know," Iwaizumi started, voice cool and yet, gentle, like a tender touch, lilting into a steady rhythm, "That long ago, there were gigantic lakes on the earth so huge they were the size of entire continents?"

The way Oikawa stilled almost imperceptibly under his light touch, as though holding a breath and waiting, listening, let Iwaizumi know that Oikawa wasn't too far gone.

"Now, these lakes were huge, as far as the eye could see and," he paused, a tiny smile quirking up the corners of his mouth, "They were all rainbow coloured. Imagine that rainbow swirled ice cream you get at the combini, but completely melted into gigantic pools. In fact, these were all rainbow ice creams at some point, but the heat melted them down into the biggest multicoloured lakes you can imagine."

While Iwaizumi had been talking, he had felt Oikawa’s chest rise as he took in a single breath, unbearably painstakingly inhaled and cautiously let into lungs bit by bit. A shaky exhale before the movement of the ribs under the back of his hand regained a steadier regularity.

"And all sorts of animals would come to drink from, bathe in and just hang out around these lakes," he was rubbing small, slow circles on Oikawa’s back now, making soothing rotations and wishing he could smoothen out the lines on Oikawa’s forehead the same way, "But the ones who were there the most often were the ponies."

Iwaizumi could tell that Oikawa was paying more and more attention to his wildly unpredictable story rather than the voices in his head as the body on the couch loosened a little more every minute and the head that was previously tucked in toward a heaving chest nudged its way to rest on the sofa’s backrest. 

"All day, the ponies would be splashing around the rainbow lakes and they would swim around and have competitions to see who could swim out the furthest in a single breath. At night, they would soak in it and doze off, neck deep in the sugary water."

At this juncture, Oikawa shifted minutely but just enough so that his head slid off the couch and easily into Iwaizumi's shoulder, his back curving so that the hand on his back was now wrapped around him. With a small sigh, Iwaizumi reached up and tangled his hands in chestnut locks, brushing stray strands away from a pale face.

"So it wasn't any surprise when one day, the ponies stepped out of the lakes and found that their coats were dyed rainbow hued from the lake. They tried washing it off but no pond or rain would do the trick. And from then on, there were colourful ponies prancing around which is how," Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes as he tried to recall the name of those characters Kindaichi had talked about throughout high school.

"Which is how My Little Pony came about," he finished triumphantly. From his shoulder there was a snort and an amused smile immediately split his face, tinged with relief.

“My Little Pony? Really?” Oikawa’s voice, muffled into his shoulder, was small and weary, but Iwaizumi had had years of practice sifting through the layers and nuances of his best friend’s tone, and he could discern a minute reduction in strain and the beginnings of a smile.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi paused, shuffling through honey stained memories of high school days, “Friendship is magic,” he blurted with more enthusiasm at remembering the motto correctly than for the actual show. Regardless, it made Oikawa huff out a laugh and sag completely, suddenly becoming a dead weight at his side.

“Oikawa? Hey, look at me,” Iwaizumi ducked his head, trying to catch Oikawa’s gaze, “Listen, everybody has different definitions of love and none of them are wrong. What I’m saying is that everybody out there seems to be looking for grand statements and showy proposals but I also feel that love can be quiet and those small gestures are just as good as the big ones. I’m saying that romance and love are different but that they can fuel each other and that it’s important to differentiate the two. That the media always depicts these great shows of love and that to me, love doesn’t need to be grand to be real.”

Iwaizumi squeezed Oikawa’s shoulder, “Do you understand?”

The slightest of nods, before a slightly bigger jerk of a stubborn chin.

“And how can you say you don’t know what love is? Your family loves you, your friends love you, your stupid fangirls love you, I-”Oikawa’s head shot up, brown eyes wide and alert, Iwaizumi fumbled to find the words that would get through to his best friend, “Of course you know what love is even though everybody’s experience is different. I- Tooru, you’re so loved.”

Iwaizumi realised that he probably got a little too caught up there, so he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “Besides, don’t tell me all those fangirls back in the day and dates you’ve gone on have been for nothing.”

Oikawa’s eyelids went half-mast as he scoffed, flapping a hand and flopping back onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

In silence, they watched the cooking show for how long, Iwaizumi didn’t know, but neither moved a muscle except for when Oikawa pinched milk bread into his mouth. Normal friends didn’t do this, normal best friends didn’t cuddle up and watch television, Iwaizumi was aware.

People who didn’t know them very well always thought that their relationship was somewhat odd, two childhood friends seemingly unusually dependent and not at all bothered that they were still living together. They’d both dated around here and there but in the first few years of working, one would come home to find the other already kicked back on the couch with a box of takeout and a good movie.

He remembered asking why Oikawa wasn’t out as much anymore and the other had shrugged, a forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth. _Everyone kind of sucks and I’d much rather be here anyway_, had been the offhanded reply, _Want to watch? It’s only at the part where he puts the finger with alien blood into his drink!_

Somewhere along the way, those nights went from being the anomaly to the norm and Iwaizumi had come to look forward to evenings laughing over dinner with Oikawa and telling each other about crazy things that had happened to them that day. It wasn’t that they never met new people, but somehow, even when he was out having fun, there was the undercurrent of a craving to be hanging out with Oikawa instead, unhealthy co-dependency be damned.

As annoying and frustrating as he was, Oikawa was his favourite person in the world to spend time with; their relationship had mellowed since their high school days, taking on a caramel hue and shifting into something they couldn’t and didn’t care to define. He wasn’t a babysitter or a just a roommate, nor was he just a good friend, they were partners, just as they’d always been.

So, no, this wasn’t the way best friends behaved, Iwaizumi mused, heart seizing a little as he looked at the open, vulnerable expression on Oikawa’s face as he chewed, they’d long crossed that line. _But into what?_

_Partners?_ He couldn’t put his finger on it but somehow it felt as if he had flipped through the dictionary to find the word ‘partner’ and hadn’t found the definition he was expecting.

. . .

_Dear Oikawa-san,_

_I just wanted to say thank you so much for giving _Invincible with You_ to us! I really love the dynamics between Sukeru and Hitoshi because they understand each other so well!! They’re my OTP!!! I absolutely died when Hitoshi remembered her favourite dish and cooked it for her. Soulmates material!_

_Can’t wait to see what happens in the next chapter!_

\- _Arakida Otsune_

. . .

It was only as he was reaching for the gleaming steel handle of the cake shop, after walking past several of the store’s full length glass panels wherein the most gorgeous cakes lay in all their tantalizing glory, that it occurred to Oikawa that they hadn’t set up a back story. He had spent the entire morning in a radiant cloud of unsurpassed bliss, as though the pretense part of this arrangement didn’t exist.

Because for two whole hours, he was going to be able to casually hold Iwaizumi’s hand, to tell others that Iwaizumi was his and that they belonged to each other. For the brief duration of this session, he was going to have everything he had ever wanted, everything he had dared to dream of, and he was going to take what he could get and never forget it.

Just that morning, before leaving the house, Oikawa had cornered Iwaizumi in his room and with a great deal of finesse layered over full blown terror, produced a ring that he had bought in university. It was a simple band, nothing fancy and not even very expensive, but he had purchased it years ago, full of bluster only to have lost his nerve and hidden it away with some old things.

“Engaged men wear engagement rings, Iwa-chan,” he had whined, his heart pounding too fast to keep up with his daring, “How will we be a credible couple if you don’t have a ring?”

He had expected far more resistance and had almost crumpled into a graceless heap when a gruff Iwaizumi had rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a thin silver ring with a modest engraved design.

“I guess great minds think alike,” he mumbled, “I picked this up last week ‘cause I had the same notion as you.”

The ring clinked against the door handle as Oikawa decided that they would make up their backstory as they went along, and he beamed at the glinting silver, surreptitiously rubbing his thumb over it just to prove that it was real and still there.

Already, the seats at the round tables set up were filling fast and Iwaizumi headed straight for a table occupied by two couples while Oikawa lagged behind, drooling discreetly at the tempting cakes on display. Their seats were situated right next to one of the shop’s full-length windows, providing Iwaizumi with ample natural light with which to take the best photographs in. But as Oikawa lowered himself into the seat, he took advantage of the rays to admire, for the kazillionth time since he had been presented with it, the way his ring shone in the light.

If Oikawa had to list out the top five moments of his relatively short life thus far, this entire day would have been ranked within the top three. By the time they’d finished making basic introductions and Oikawa had recovered from saying, “And this is my fiancé, Iwa-chan!”, the first of the cakes had been brought out.

This wasn’t even a mere sweet tooth paradise anymore, it was pure heaven for him, with a seemingly endless supply of mouth-watering, spectacular cakes and Iwaizumi by his side.

Somewhere between the lavender earl grey with pistachio hints and the yuzu tiramisu, Oikawa placed a casual hand on Iwaizumi’s arm as the undercover writer discreetly took notes on his phone.

“Iwa-chan, the notes of lavender are so delicate, try,” He held a forkful of cake to Iwaizumi’s lips, the other hand brazenly skimming his best friend’s jaw the way he’d seen movie stars do.

Perhaps Iwaizumi should have been alarmed by the way he took that bite with no hesitation, or maybe it should have been even more eyebrow-raising that swiping stray crumbs from the corner of Oikawa’s mouth with a thumb felt like the next most natural step. But he wasn’t, it wasn’t, and maybe that should have been the biggest warning sign of all.

“It’s good, but lavender earl grey is more your thing, you can finish it,” Iwaizumi prodded the plate in Oikawa’s direction.

Practically bursting with sheer happiness and greatly emboldened, Oikawa leaned in close, his hand bracing his weight on Iwaizumi’s thigh as his lips hovered, nearly brushing Iwaizumi’s ear.

“Thank you so much for bringing me along,” he breathed, “This is so fun, I’m so happy to be eating cake here with you. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Now pretend I’m saying something naughty so the rest don’t get suspicious, kay?”

With that he withdrew and threw a coy smile over at Iwaizumi who, he was impressed to see, was blushing just the slightest bit. _Wow, Iwa-chan, I didn’t expect you to really follow my instructions that well! Maybe you should consider being an actor!_

The actor in question cleared his throat, his brain struggling to format the words, _You’re welcome, I’m glad you’re happy, you’re so easy to please when it comes to sweets, I like making you happy, you look the best when relaxed and smiling like this_ into something appropriate and succinct.

Before he could, one of the ladies sighed.

“So in love, you two!” She peered up at her own fiancé, “Were we ever that cute?”

The man, a Kobayashi-san, responded to her cheeky grin with an endeared expression.

“Perhaps. Maybe when we were in the honeymoon stage, just after getting together. Now we’re old and boring,” he teased.

“Nonsense,” Iwaizumi interjected with a small smile, “If anyone is old and boring, it’s probably us. We’ve known each other for so long, our friends always say we might as well be an old married couple.”

“Now, now, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa took the liberty of snuggling up to Iwaizumi’s arm for a brief moment, “Ours is a love that will never go stale.”

After a chorus of ‘awws’, one of the other ladies wiggled in her seat.

“So how did you two meet?”

“We’re childhood friends so I’ve known him all my life,” Oikawa declared blithely.

“Unfortunately,” Iwaizumi tacked on with a smirk.

“So mean to your fiancé,” Oikawa feigned hurt despite the flutter in his stomach. _Fiancé!_ He thought giddily, _fiancé!_

“How did you get together?” The first lady probed, humming around a mouthful of cake and writing something down on the preference sheet they had been given.

“And who proposed?” The other added quickly, both of them exchanging merry looks across the table and giggling.

“Well,” Oikawa started, charming smile in place, “I tried confessing to him so many times, all through high school and university. In fact, I’ve been so obvious about my feelings that he really should have picked up on it earlier.”

“He’s being dramatic, as usual,” Iwaizumi cut in with forced laugh, “Our story is pretty straight-forward.” He raised a meaningful eyebrow at Oikawa, clearly signaling for him to keep it simple. But Oikawa was on a roll.

“It’s just my luck to fall for someone so obtuse,” Oikawa heaved a dramatic sigh, “All those times I tried to express my affections, to no avail. There was even that one time in college I was so desperate I nearly skipped confessing and went straight for a proposal!” The table laughed, just as he intended and he shot a confident smirk at Iwaizumi. _See? I have it under control._

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes.

“Don’t exaggerate,” the brunette rumbled.

“I’m not!” Oikawa pouted, then possessed by a rare moment of bravery, he stared directly into endless hazel eyes as he said, “Iwa-chan, I’ve been telling you I love you for the longest time, it just never gets through to you.”

A breathless moment in which Oikawa was sure his heart forgot how to beat passed as unreadable hazel eyes tried to read him.

“Until we got together, that is,” he hastily added, remembering their audience.

“We got closer and closer and kind of fell into it, I guess,” Iwaizumi quickly picked up the baton and tried to wrap it up.

“But! Iwa-chan made up for all his years of dense-ness when he proposed!” Oikawa clasped his hands under his chin, a dreamy look on his face, “He just couldn’t contain his affection for me and so he-”

“So I decided,” Iwaizumi interrupted with one hand suddenly covering Oikawa’s and squeezing with a warning, “To take him out for dinner and propose, just like that.”

“So you proposed at dinner?” One of the ladies asked, her eyes bright and her cheeks stained pink with delight.

“No, we went star-gazing,” both of them replied in unison, before staring at each other in shock. Now it was Oikawa’s turn to flush as Iwaizumi warred between surprise and relief that they’d given the same answer.

“He loves space,” Iwaizumi managed weakly, having recovered first, “Any other way of proposing would feel wrong.”

“So!” Oikawa chirped, sensing they wouldn’t get lucky like that again, “Kobayashi-san, how did you pop the question?”

As the conversation slowly moved away from them, the pair heaved a quiet sigh of relief, with Oikawa’s face shining with triumphant glee and Iwaizumi’s expression full of fond irritation and reluctant amusement.

The session wore on and Iwaizumi allowed himself to be fed by Oikawa, let his hands linger on the other’s shoulders, cheek, back, and casually intertwined their hands in between cakes. As he typed a note into his phone, he realised that this was vastly easier than he had expected and then gave himself a pat on the back. Oikawa was in far better spirits thanks to these cakes and so, pricey as they may be, Iwaizumi added another flavour to the mental folder he had of Oikawa’s favourite sweets. 

Oikawa let out a peal of genuinely happy laughter, one that suffused his entire face with unguarded mirth and as the light fractured behind him, Iwaizumi blinked and felt as though he was looking at an alternate dimension of his world.

He was momentarily seized with the notion that this was how strangers saw Oikawa, that there were people in the world who didn’t know that he talked in his sleep when he was stressed and ate dark chocolate only because it was healthy and not because he liked it. They would look in and see a statuesque creature, a foreign but otherwise beautiful being, a smudge of frosting on the corner of his mouth and chocolate brown eyes that were lit up, with the afternoon sun dappling across his features and highlighting the occasional auburn strand in waves of chestnut.

It made Iwaizumi wonder if he was perennially suspended in an alternate universe when it came to the other man. It would explain why Oikawa's laugh always sounded the clearest even through layers of noise, why the colours around him, on him, seemed to split, filtering into unimaginable shades of pure brilliance, and why the light glancing off his skin somehow glimmered into something even more radiant than the rays of the sun.

It was possible, Iwaizumi concluded, prolonged exposure had simply given him a strange lens with which to see his best friend, something that perpetually highlighted life around Oikawa just a shade brighter. Or, perhaps, one day he would blink and lose this slightly altered plane of existence.

And as he frowned, following this line of thought, he had the dawning suspicion that maybe he didn't mind which universe he was living in as long as this was the way things were. With him, with them.

He hadn’t realised that he had been staring until Oikawa turned to him, eyes still alight and face still open, soft. It was impossible not to smile back at Oikawa when he looked like that, brimming with joy and affect abandoned.

Unease diluted by something else swelled in his chest to condense in an emotion that grew ferociously until it threatened to consume him whole. Still grinning, Iwaizumi’s gaze drifted down to their hands, the long fingers he had unthinkingly intertwined his own with, and there, his expression faltered into pensive consideration. _Oh_, he thought.

_Oh._


	3. I always saw you reaching and catching stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from [ Follow Your Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9wBXC3aZ_I) by Kodaline which inspired the second half of this chapter. I then proceeded to build this fic around that scene. Incidentally, it’s the only chapter title/song that I feel is from Iwa’s perspective for this fic.

**Slice of Heaven: Wedding Cakes to Wow Your Guests**

** __ ** _By Iwaizumi Hajime_

_4 Jun 2019_

Gone are the days when wedding cakes were simple three-tiered circular ivory affairs; in line with the latest trends, wedding cakes have moved on to styles that break with tradition, featuring geometric patterns, watercolour palettes and elaborate customised designs based on the couple’s favourite movie or television show. However, how often is taste sacrificed for attractive designs and is this a necessary compromise? One wedding cake shop is determined to provide the best of both worlds and we make a trip down to see how well their cakes stack up.

Read more…

. . .

Oikawa awoke to the sound of rustling. While normally a light sleeper, the tea he'd drunk too late the afternoon before made his slumber restless. He could feel the barest hint of dried sweat on his limbs and honestly, he remembered tossing in his sheets more than his dreams.

_Ghosts_ was his first thought, a chill travelling through him as a childhood fear that he thought he'd reasoned away made its reappearance and projected grotesque images of caricatured demons on the screen of his mind.

Taking a deep breath and getting his half-asleep brain under control, he thought about it again, more rationally this time. _Rats_, he guessed with pretty much an equal amount of horror as when considering Sadako.

Groping around for his phone, he clutched it but didn't turn on the flashlight in case he scared the rat away before he could catch it. Not that he really wanted to catch it but he figured that it would be better than living with the thought of a rat or rats on the loose in their apartment for an indefinite amount of time. Sweeping a hand over his bedside table, he felt for his paperweight: a palm-sized Stitch that was carved out of smooth rock, a present from Iwaizumi the day his manga had won the Most Popular Newcomer award. His fingers toppled it before he hefted it in his palm, _yup, it’s sure to knock a rat out if my aim is good enough._

Easing his door open, he realised that in the time taken to arm himself, all sound had stopped, leaving him in pitch black and dead silence. _The kitchen_, he concluded, and briefly considered waking Iwaizumi up to be his reinforcement against any rodents, but huffed a sigh as he shook the thought out of his head. Steeling himself, he decided that he could let the writer sleep considering that_ I Do _had landed a big client deal recently and Iwaizumi had been furiously writing paid content for the past week thanks to the tight deadlines.

Slowly, Oikawa edged down the short corridor, phone threatening to slide out of one sweating palm and Stitch figurine gripped tightly in the other. He'd not checked the time when he'd woken up, but it seemed like the witching hour, when the night truly belonged to the dark, without any shouts from drunk kids stumbling home nor late night cars whizzing by to tear the shadowed fabric apart.

In the inky black and stagnant air, it was almost as though the night was holding its breath, and as Oikawa shuffled along past Iwaizumi's door, so did he.

He had nearly reached the end of the hallway and a sharp turn would take him into the living room which opened up into their kitchen. Hefting the stone character in his hand, Oikawa rounded the corner swiftly, hoping that he would be quick enough to catch the creature by surprise.

Except that when he sprang around the corner, his right leg made contact with a thigh high obstacle and Oikawa let out a yelp as the aborted momentum toppled him over the object.

Going down over the barrier-like object in a flurry of flailing limbs, Oikawa did his best to stop himself from landing on the ground. So busy was he trying to save himself that he nearly missed the low curse in a familiar voice. It was only in the awkward position of one hand planted on the floor, the other still grasping the paperweight and hooked around the obstacle and his butt on something soft that he registered it along with the fact that he hadn't landed sprawled on the floor (although the same couldn't be said for his phone).

“Iwa-chan?!” Oikawa squinted and even without his glasses he made out the shaded outline of Iwaizumi through the gloom. Iwaizumi whose neck his arm was wrapped around. _Iwaizumi_ whose stomach he had kneed trying to break his fall. _Iwaizumi whose thigh he was currently sitting on._

“Why are you so heavy?” Iwaizumi grunted.

“Why are you pretending to be a rat?” Oikawa shot back, trying to ignore the proximity of his former ace. Try was unfortunately the key word and Oikawa could feel the flex and contract of hard muscles in strong thighs as he wiggled to get up.

“Why am I pretending to be- What?” Iwaizumi's voice was rough but all the same, one hand skimmed over Oikawa until it found its way under his right knee and lifted, ensuring that no matter how Oikawa turned or moved, his bad knee wouldn’t hit the wooden tiles. Every inch of skin that was passed over by a warm, calloused hand tingled beyond belief and Oikawa had to concentrate on not melting into his best friend's touch like some kind of desperate fool.

He had half fallen over Iwaizumi's shoulder and landed somewhat splayed on the other's lap in a very unnatural position. Simply put, there was no graceful way to get up, so after some maneuvering and accidentally kneeing Iwaizumi again, the manga author gave up and pushed against the crouched figure to slither limply off the writer's lap and onto the floor.

An exasperated sigh from where Oikawa assumed Iwaizumi's head was sounded above him as the former setter languidly pulled himself into a seated position, one ankle still on Iwaizumi's knee.

“I thought you were a rat, why aren't you sleeping?” Oikawa demanded now that he was no longer embarrassingly draped over the man he was in love with, "You've finished all the articles that you needed to do for the deadline!"

“I remembered that I missed out on one article while I was sleeping,” Iwaizumi's baritone came out tired and annoyed.

“While you were sleeping?” Oikawa's voice raised in disbelief. Another heavy sigh as the now identifiable crinkling started up again.

“Yeah, I forgot that I have one more and I can write it now but I can't find the brief that they passed to me which means I'll have to email them for a soft copy which will only be given to me when they wake up which is too late.”

Years of knowing Iwaizumi meant that Oikawa instantly detected the anxiety, frustration and exhaustion within that single run on sentence.

“So you were looking for it in complete darkness?” Oikawa asked incredulously, hauling himself to his feet and into the patch of moonlight that shone in. The luminescent glow trickled out to where Iwaizumi was sitting and digging through his bag, casting his features into sharp relief and painting him with licks of moonshine into a living work of art.

“My night vision is better than yours because I eat more carrots,” Iwaizumi's voice was wry as he poked around his folder, “And also I _was _using the moonlight until someone decided to block it.”

Oikawa stuck his tongue out at his best friend even though he knew he probably couldn't see and crossed the room to flip the warmer set of lights on.

Iwaizumi briefly shielded his eyes from the dim glow before going back to his search. Arms akimbo in the middle of their modest dining room, Oikawa surveyed the writer sitting on the floor with the entire contents of his bag in disarray on any surface near him.

“Which brief is this?” Oikawa cocked his head, taking in the crumpled sheets peeking out of files and the notepad on the sofa with the water bottle propped on top of it.

“Uh, the wedding rings one,” Iwaizumi answered distractedly, flipping through pages in a ring binder, “It came in a manila envelope but I don't have it so I thought maybe it got shuffled in with these papers.”

Frowning, Oikawa disappeared into Iwaizumi's room and emerged thirty seconds later with a set of stapled sheets held between his thumb and forefinger, a smug smile on his lips.

“You mean this?”

Scrambling to his feet, Iwaizumi scanned the papers, mouth agape before turning to Oikawa with wide eyes.

“How did you find it?” He breathed.

“You took it out of the envelope last week, remember?” The look on Iwaizumi’s face said he did not.

“You wanted the envelope for something else so you said you'd just put it on your study table? But I found it under a red file so that’s why you probably missed it,” Brown eyes sparkled as they watched Iwaizumi cast back for last week's memories and light upon the exact one Oikawa was describing.

“Shit,” Iwaizumi ran a hand through sleep rumpled black hair and clasped Oikawa's shoulder firmly, “Thanks, Kawa. I would've been looking for this for forever.”

“No need to thank me, just gotta buy me lots of milk bread!” Oikawa sang. With a mix of concern and confusion, he watched Iwaizumi power up his laptop.

“Wait, are you really-” he snuck a look at their clock, “Iwa-chan, it's two seventeen in the morning, can't you do this tomorrow?”

Iwaizumi shot him a glance and snorted as he typed in his password. Immediately, Oikawa felt the acute irony of his statement. Oikawa, who had pulled consecutive all-nighters when the inspiration so hit him or when a deadline was looming, was telling Iwaizumi, who more or less faithfully went to bed by the wee hours of the morning, to go back to sleep. Right.

Huffing a sigh, Oikawa knew his best friend had called him out without even opening his mouth so he stalked over to the cupboard and found two cups.

Pouring two packets into his and Iwaizumi's respective mugs, he cracked an egg in each, added the correct amount of water, mixed it thoroughly and popped them into the microwave.

While the machine hummed, Oikawa went to his room and returned Stitch-less but with his tablet and a blanket, retrieving his phone from the floor at the same time.

When the microwave dinged, Oikawa pulled out the mugs with a flourish and set Iwaizumi's down next to his laptop along with a teaspoon.

"Ta-da!" He exclaimed, "Oikawa-san's Magical, Ultra-Exclusive Cake!"

What had been two cups of questionable batter before they'd gone into the microwave had metamorphosized into pale golden, fluffy sponge that swelled over the rims of the cups and exuded the faint aroma of vanilla to accompany the cinnamon that Oikawa had sprinkled on top.

“You literally made instant microwave cake,” Iwaizumi stated flatly as he linked a finger through the handle and tugged his mug to him.

Before Oikawa could protest or pout or admit that he couldn't really cook much else (not that Iwaizumi didn't already know), he was fixed with a steady gaze.

A slight smile graced the corner of Iwaizumi's lips and his eyes were open, sincere and did things to Oikawa's heart, just as always.

“But thanks, god knows I'll need it to get through this,” he sighed as he cracked his knuckles and turned to his laptop screen.

Barely suppressing a grin, Oikawa huddled with his knees up on the chair adjacent to the brunette and took small bites from his cake as he pulled up the latest panel he'd been working on from his tablet.

The night sauntered by as Iwaizumi wrote and Oikawa drew, the faint breeze tousling stray locks and whispering past them like it knew how incredibly content Oikawa was just to be up at a godforsaken hour of the night, eating nonsense and working with Iwaizumi by his side.

As unusual an occurrence as this was for the both of them, they'd slipped into it seamlessly, and just like that, it felt like the most natural thing. It made Oikawa wonder about a theory that he often toyed with about the pair of them. They were always on the same wavelength and maybe it was really, as people reasoned, because they'd spent their entire lives together. But Oikawa had always ghosted around the vague, implausible notion that they had had spent lives and lives in this fashion, slowly learning each other over an endless recurrence of intertwined fates to the point of this familiarity.

Sneaking a look at the man Oikawa had painstakingly nurtured feelings for, Oikawa wasn’t afraid of the night ending. He knew that in the morning, Iwaizumi would still be there, speaking to him in tones that reminded him of flowers in bloom and laughing in ways that got Oikawa through the hardest of days.

No, he was afraid that one day, it might not be him watching Iwaizumi work in the dead of the night, that it might not be him who got to hear Iwaizumi’s gruff morning voice or him who teased that quiet chuckle out. He knew that one day it wouldn’t be him. _But for now_, he tore his gaze away in a practiced move, _for now this is enough._

Somewhere in the first forty five minutes, Oikawa had started singing, or humming, or some combination of the two. He only ever did this once he'd settled into a sketching rhythm and it was largely absentminded, and usually something he'd heard on the radio or his current favourite song. It was mostly quietly mumbled, with the words hardly discernable and as usual, Iwaizumi gave no indication of hearing.

At one point, he hit a high note, but still singing in a muted manner, remaining completely focused in his drawing as though he wasn't trying to sing a jumbled line in a squeaky voice while adding defined lines in beat to the song.

He didn't notice Iwaizumi's eyes lift at the same time as the note, neither did he see the fond smile that crossed the other man's lips while he continued singing and drawing, sometimes bobbing his head although completely off rhythm. But an amused look that, in the honeyed glow of their dining room, was more tender than ever, was cast his way before the click-clack of typing resumed.

By three thirty, they'd relocated to the couch because Iwaizumi could feel his back protesting their unforgiving wooden chairs despite a more rational part of his brain telling him that the couch would have his neck cursing him in the morning. Empty mugs left in the sink, both of them were tucked into the couch, one on each end with Oikawa’s feet squeezed between the couch and Iwaizumi’s hip (“If not my feet will freeze, Iwa-chan!”) and one of Iwaizumi’s feet resting on the floor while the other was propped next to Oikawa’s knee. It wasn’t the most logistically advantageous arrangement for two grown, athletic and well-built men but it was _hella_ cosy so neither complained more than the usual grumbling.

“Oi,” Iwaizumi turned his laptop around so that Oikawa could see the screen from where he was opposite him on the couch, “Which one do you think is the nicest?”

Oikawa finished writing his sentence before looking up to see five different engagement rings on the screen, his gaze immediately snagging on a fairly pretty one with a relatively simple but classy design. He was about to point it out when a hand covered it and Iwaizumi blocked it from view.

“Wait, except this one. I know you like this one the most but I need a flashier one for the thumbnail image.”

“How did you know I was going to choose that?” Oikawa frowned, squinting at the other designs available. Iwaizumi levelled him with a look.

“You seriously think I don’t know you well enough to know your taste?” Oikawa’s feet squirmed a little where they were wedged in the warm corner between Iwaizumi and the sofa as he tried to shoo away flutters in his stomach along with flashes of an imaginary Iwaizumi picking out an engagement ring that he knew Oikawa would love.

“Okay, if you knew what I was going to choose then why ask me?”

“Because the rest are all hideous and I can’t bring myself to pick any,” Iwaizumi said dryly and Oikawa cackled; it was true, the rings really were rather ugly and even at a glance he knew that they were far too ostentatious for Iwaizumi to like any of them.

“But I have to choose from these because it’s a client feature so no dice,” Iwaizumi continued, slumping a little so that his toes tickled the back of Oikawa’s knee.

“Hmm…” Oikawa leaned into the screen, ignoring the warmth that emanated from Iwaizumi’s body, burning through their layers of clothing and scorching him at their every point of contact. He pointed at one of the rings with a chirp and Iwaizumi peeped over the screen to see before grunting an acknowledgment and turning the screen back around.

With a contented smile, Oikawa settled back into shading, resisting the urge to press closer to Iwaizumi and turn the whispers of space between them to nothing.

The rain started up at about five thirty, beginning as light, sporadic splatters on the pavement before the sky swiftly made up its mind to open up and pour sheets of water down on the sleeping city. Oikawa raised his eyes to watch a steady stream of water sluice down their window, turning a street barely lit by the strains of dawn into an Impressionist painting with liquid colours that bled into each other.

Turning his gaze onto his sleeping companion, who was snoring lightly with his completed work saved and his laptop stowed neatly on the coffee table, Oikawa smiled. A soft smile that not even Iwaizumi had seen, although Matsukawa had caught him once in high school and had never stopped teasing him about it since.

Iwaizumi had his head leaned against the back of the sofa, one arm pillowing his head and the other casually flung across his midriff, fingers brushing Oikawa’s shin. Hugging his tablet, Oikawa mirrored his best friend’s position, leaning his head on the opposite end of the sofa, and allowed his eyelids to gradually lower as the steady rhythm of the other’s breathing melded with the quiet roar of the rain outside.

. . .

_Dear Oikawa-san,_

_While I appreciate this pining as much as the next girl, the suspense in your most recent chapter is KILLING ME. It’s so obvious that Sukeru and Hitoshi are into each other, how can they both be so blind? How can Sukeru be unsure of Hitoshi’s feelings for her and how can Hitoshi be so oblivious??? Will Sukeru ever tell Hitoshi how she feels? I definitely want her to make the first move._

_Best,_

_Kimura Mihoko_

. . .

The pulsating lights and flashing strobes in the club made it brighter inside than it was outside and as Iwaizumi stepped in, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the darkness of the late evening sky to the plush interior of the club that thrummed with loud music.

Scanning the horde of bodies on the dance floor to skim the slightly more private tables closer to the bar, he found his friends where they said they would be, a couple of bottles and glasses strewn across the black tabletop. So strong was the bass of the music that it reverberated in his bones and that was what he blamed for the inexplicable tremor in his chest when his eyes finally lit on Oikawa.

Oikawa, who was faintly flushed in the way he got after his second shot, had a relaxed smile on as he faced Matsukawa whose long frame was propped on a bar stool. He wasn’t exactly dancing, but his body moved in sync to the hit being played, as though he couldn’t help but move to the beat. Through the chaos of gyrating bodies and overly sweet scented fog, he was crushingly beautiful.

Then Iwaizumi caught a glimpse of what Oikawa was wearing and he winced. Usually, Oikawa had on an outfit that looked straight off the runway and his finger was on the pulse of the hottest trends of the season. He did elegant and classy just as well as he rocked street fashion and edgy styles, but he had never really grown out of the horrible taste he had in clothing from when he was younger.

In high school, Iwaizumi had witnessed some of the most godawful fashion he had ever been exposed to in his entire life and it was all Oikawa, strutting around in a monstrosity of an outfit without the barest hint of irony. He’d toned it down a lot as they got older, but Iwaizumi had the feeling it was the kind of fashion Oikawa had the most fun with and so, he never gave Oikawa more than the standard amount of grief when they were heading out and Oikawa cobbled a hideous ensemble together.

The strangest and most vexing thing about it all was that Oikawa somehow still looked _good_ in those terrible clothes. He would pair an ugly shirt with a pair of shorts in clashing colours, pull on too many accessories and then the least functioning pair of socks Iwaizumi had ever seen and make it work somehow. Where anyone else would look like a mix of ‘got-dressed-in-the-dark’ and ‘laundry-day’, Oikawa always ended up as stunning as an avant-garde fashion influencer.

Tonight, he was clad in a shirt so gaudy Iwaizumi was surprised they let him into the club, and yet, taking in his best friend’s poise, confident smirk and hooded gaze, he ultimately looked more sultry than anything, even with that shirt.

They’d started without him, knowing he would be late, and keeping his eyes on them, he began wading through the crowd, trying not to accidentally bump into people and thanking god that this wasn’t one of those hip places with throngs of drunk young people dry humping on the dancefloor. They’d stopped going to those just after university and slowly began hunting for ones like this, with a slightly more mature clientele, less painful music and an overall chiller vibe.

Matsukawa let out a cheer when he caught sight of Iwaizumi, already relatively intoxicated judging by the gloss of his eyes and the way he was nibbling on Hanamaki’s earlobe. Chuckling, Iwaizumi was pulled to their spot in the corner and plied with drinks, receiving thumps on the back for being late and a dish of snacks being shoved in his direction.

With every sip of his drink, every chime of Oikawa's laugh, every cringey pun Mattsun made and braying punchline Makki delivered, Iwaizumi felt the stress of the week bleed out and into the dark recesses of the club. He only had this brief calm before the next storm hit at work and they were back to the craze of rushing to finalize things for the next issue, and he was planning to enjoy it to the maximum.

About an hour and three drinks in, Iwaizumi began to feel the alcohol loosen his posture and found himself leaning against the high table, exchanging tipsy banter with an even tipsier Mattsun. Oikawa had disappeared to dance with Makki and as the song changed to something familiar, Iwaizumi scanned the crowd until his gaze snagged on the taller man.

Whether or not Oikawa recognised the song, or this remix of it, was unknown, but he danced as though he’d been made to move to this specific track. Lids lowered and the ghost of a smile curving his features into something soft, he moved with a magnetic quality that set him apart from the sea of people out there on the dancefloor. There always seemed to be a shaft of the club’s spotlights that sought him, just as Iwaizumi did, glinting off his cheekbones and making the sweat on his collarbones gleam.

As though he’d sensed Iwaizumi’s regard, Oikawa’s chocolate brown eyes snapped open, locking onto his best friend almost immediately and his lips drew into a knowing smile. Oikawa sashayed and shimmied his way through the crowd, eyes never leaving Iwaizumi’s and without really knowing why, Iwaizumi started to sweat.

Reaching his destination, Oikawa reached for Iwaizumi, one hand outstretched while the rest of his body never stopped keeping to the beat. He hadn’t been sure before, but up close and even through the haze of alcohol, Iwaizumi could tell that Oikawa had definitely recognised this song.

It had played at the only party they’d gone to together in university, when Oikawa had come over to visit Iwaizumi at his college and Iwaizumi had forgotten that he’d agreed to attend a party later that same day. Their only college party together and it had been a complete train wreck. The music player had gotten jammed and refused to play anything but this very song on repeat. Unfortunately, the hosts, deciding that most guests would be too drunk or high to notice, had turned the volume up and let it go on.

To make matters even worse, they’d lost each other at the very beginning and only found each other forty five minutes later, with beer soaking Iwaizumi’s shirt and Oikawa missing a shoe.

_“We’re leaving,” Iwaizumi stated before heading for the door._

_“Wait!” Oikawa made a grab for his arm, hand nearly sliding off from the residual beer coating his skin._

_“You want to stay? We’re in some infernal musical purgatory, you have no shoe, the only food is leftover potato chips and I’m marinating in beer. You came to see me, I’m not wasting your time here,” Iwaizumi stared incredulously at his best friend who had a glint in his eye, the kind he had before dragging Iwaizumi out of bed at three in the morning to look at stars._

_“One song,” Oikawa shouted back over the blasting music, “I refuse to leave without having fun. It’s not wasted time if I’m having fun with you. Come on, Iwa-chan, dance one song with me and then we’ll go.”_

_Eardrums practically rupturing, Iwaizumi watched as his best friend snagged a shot for each of them, knocked one back and kicked off his remaining shoe. He extended the shot to Iwaizumi, eyes wild and grin contagious._

_“Ah, what the heck,” Iwaizumi muttered before peeling off his sopping shirt and flinging it next to Oikawa’s shoe. Taking his shot, he flashed a rare, playful smile before busting out the worst dance moves in his repertoire just so Oikawa would crack up._

_“One song.”_

_Dance with me. _Oikawa didn’t have to say a word, Iwaizumi read the request in his expression anyway and it echoed down the length of his spine. Having fun was a whole other realm when it came to his best friend and being with him was simultaneously akin to the relief in a heaving sigh and the buzzing thrill in an excited inhale. He was the most comfortable to be with and somehow, the most electrifying as well. In a blurred second, he saw all their years melding into a single emotion, something that pushed him away from the table, laughing and loose-limbed as he eased into Oikawa’s space.

The flashing lights skittered over their faces as they edged their way back into the main dancefloor and it captured stills of both their expressions, the sequence of a highlight reel in blue hues and flickering shadow. Maybe Iwaizumi had left his brain behind at the table, but this definitely wasn’t the way they’d danced all those years ago. Back then, they’d been guffawing and yelling, throwing out crazy moves and crashing into each other more than anything.

Here, Oikawa was all hips and slanted glances, lips parted and a trickle of sweat inching down his temple – he was hypnotic, enchanting and almost an illusion of fog and light. Iwaizumi swallowed, his moves unconsciously reflecting the other’s, boiling them down to a study in sensuality.

All he saw was Oikawa, all he _could_ see was him, with an iridescent aura in the mass of strangers – in the murky landscape of Iwaizumi’s mind, he was the only thing that made sense. Somehow they were close, closer than ever, and transfixed, Iwaizumi watched as Oikawa’s eyes burned into molten amber with a fire that he felt in his own chest.

His hand found its way to Oikawa’s hip as Oikawa bared his teeth in a breathless whisper of a smile and he tipped his head forward so that he could taste the alcohol in every exhale of Oikawa’s. They were moving still but he barely registered the hand that Oikawa rested on his chest, fingers grazing his collarbone through the fabric of his shirt, his mind otherwise preoccupied with the sheer proximity of the other man.

“Iwa-chan…” Was all he caught before he realised that Oikawa was nose to nose with him, before he realised that he was leaning in to meet him halfway, and then there were soft lips pressed against his. The back of his mind vaguely noted that it was interesting that he could read the uncertainty in Oikawa’s kissing as easily as he did in normal circumstances, before he rubbed a soothing thumb on Oikawa’s jaw. The hesitancy in the initial kiss disappeared with that as Iwaizumi tilted his head and fanned out his fingers to cup Oikawa’s face, deepening the kiss.

People normally said that the world fell away and that all sound faded to nothing when they experienced a mind-blowing kiss. But with Oikawa gripping his shirt and his eyelashes tickling where they fluttered against Iwaizumi’s skin, the world rioted. Everything felt as though it had been amplified with Oikawa, every touch, every sound. The lights were suddenly blinding against his closed lids and the music swelled into a triumphant roar, he could feel Oikawa’s other hand slide up past his side, linger over his shoulder and settle at the nape of his neck, spurring him to pull in closer, his body aflame.

It was overwhelming, like drowning in a kaleidoscope of sensations and emotions, and yet, drawing the utmost pleasure from it nonetheless. Iwaizumi was being tossed in a cyclone and he’d never felt so _alive_, he felt as though he was slowly losing his mind from the impossibility of it all and at the same time, he knew that he would gladly abandon all sense and reason for just another second of Oikawa’s mouth, hot and wanting, on his.

An entire body slammed into them, jolting them out of it and lurching them back to reality as they waved off drunken apologies and steadied each other, hands already retreating to regular boundaries. Oikawa’s eyes were wide as he panted, his gaze darting over Iwaizumi’s face as he blinked rapidly.

“I-” The taller man started before he was interrupted by a hand slapping his back with all the restraint of a drunken person, Makki draping himself over Oikawa while Iwaizumi was forced to brace himself under practically all of Mattsun’s weight.

The two were clearly the furthest thing from sober and they planted kisses on their friends’ cheeks while threatening to choke them both with arms that wound around necks and feet that tripped themselves as much as they kicked Oikawa and Iwaizumi. A single look at each other had them sighing and hauling their friends out of the club, all else shelved for the moment as they staggered to get all their drunken asses home.

Another shared look outside the club had them calling for a single taxi since their friends were obviously in no state to go home by themselves and would probably bunk in with them for the night. They would spend the rest of the night busying themselves with making sure the bin was within reach, that everyone had drunk some water and that no one had anything important the following day, as though their reality hadn’t just been torn asunder.

One more look–when Iwaizumi wasn’t looking, busy trying to assure the taxi driver that there would be no throwing up, violence or sex in his vehicle– had dazed brown eyes tracking the beams from passing cars and trying to make out a full face of flushed tanned skin in intermittent bursts of headlights in the night.


	4. Come on and see we can be magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from [ Stars Across The Sky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLOtWURy4SQ) by Bien and it could be Oiks but mainly it’s just me begging these idiots to get it together already.

**Tips for a Happy and Healthy Marriage**

** __ ** _By Iwaizumi Hajime_

_29 Oct 2017_

Marriage isn’t all fun and games, but that doesn’t mean that it’s any less worthwhile. Committing to someone also means a commitment to the effort you intend to put into your relationship, and while life may add a good amount of strain, it doesn’t mean you should work any less at making your relationship a successful one.

Communication is an incredibly strong foundational pillar in any relationship and couples tend to forget to practise good communication, especially over time…

Read more…

. . .

For the third time that evening, the book slipped from Oikawa's drowsing fingers to land in an undignified (and painful) heap of pages and hard spine on his face. With a sigh, he sat up, setting the book down without bothering to mark the page, and tapped the screen of his phone until it lit up to show no notifications.

The soft light from the table lamp cast the empty living room in shadows that danced and swayed in time to the trees in the breeze at the window. It would have been mellow and soothing, romantic even, if Oikawa didn’t feel the glaring vacancy of the apartment so acutely.

_Is this what adulthood is like?_ He wondered, surveying the silent corners of the house, filled only by a hollow ticking rhythm that signalled his life slowly creeping by. _Quiet Friday nights, no plans, no parties and falling asleep by_, he squinted at the clock in the hallway, _midnight_.

"At least I don't look my age," he announced to no one in particular since Iwaizumi was out for a team dinner. He sighed, gaze involuntarily landing on the closed door of Iwaizumi’s room as something in his gut clenched. Things between them had been awkward to say the least since that evening at the club a week ago, and Oikawa hadn’t caught more than a glimpse of his best friend in the past seven days.

“Stupid”, he muttered, tasting sourness in his mouth as he abruptly turned away from the cream painted door, “Tried so hard not to ruin it, but I did anyway.”

Iwaizumi had stayed late in the office so often that Oikawa had started living off milkbread and combini bento sets for dinners, and in the past week, he’d taken to eating his breakfast of toast over the sink. He usually came back from his morning jog to find that Iwaizumi had already left for work, and the one time he deliberately skipped his run, Iwaizumi had left while he was in the shower.

It wasn’t a blatant avoidance, Oikawa knew that Iwaizumi’s entire office was in crunch time to churn out their latest issue and that the writer was genuinely busy. But even their meagre interactions had adopted a stiltedness that made Oikawa’s heart curl in on itself a little more. It was pathetic, really, that Oikawa was so hung up on his best friend.

That he was so desperate for a sign or anything that signalled more than platonic affection that he’d gone and blown it all. That despite everything, he would give whatever it took just to have it go back to the way it was before because having Iwaizumi as his closest friend was better than nothing at all.

Oikawa would take what he could get because beggars can’t be choosers and he knew that in this game of unrequited love, he was ironically, laughably and tragically, a beggar.

Drifting through the hallway like a phantom, he absentmindedly hummed a song from the radio, fingers brushing against the wallpaper as he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. The apartment was quiet, too quiet without Iwaizumi around and it left Oikawa with his own thoughts more than he would have liked. He could hear the fridge groan as though protesting the indecent amount of ice cream that Oikawa had stuffed in earlier that evening, and the scrape of chair leg against floor as his upstairs neighbour took a seat.

The call came just as he finished brushing his teeth, startling him so much that he nearly knocked his buzzing phone into the toilet bowl. Trying to clamp down on pleasant surprise mixed with slight apprehension, he picked up with a delighted, “Iwa-chan!”

“Hello, Oikawa-san,” a cheery voice trilled and immediately Oikawa wrenched the phone away from his ear, horror etched into his features.

Sure enough, the words ‘Iwa-chan’ blinked brightly back at him. Cautiously he returned the phone to his ear, eyes narrowing.

“Refreshing-kun, could you pass the phone to Iwa-chan, please?”

"Yes, that's what I've been saying," the voice returned dryly, "You really haven't been listening, have you?"

Oikawa opened his mouth, ready with a pert retort when Suga continued.

“Anyway, Iwaizumi had a bit too much to drink, can you come and pick him up?” Suga's tone turned slightly apologetic, “I’d send him home but there are a few more girls who are out and I want to make sure they get home safely.”

“Such a saint, Suga-chan,” Oikawa replied smoothly, checking his hair in the mirror and deciding to go with his glasses since he was too lazy to put his contacts back in, “I guess Iwa-chan needs a knight in shining armour!”

There was an odd pause on the line and for a moment Oikawa wondered if Suga had gotten distracted.

“It seems he does,” Suga's voice sounded a bit softer than before but also with something Oikawa couldn't place. A hint of a smile perhaps.

“Alright, gotta suit up so I can save Iwa-chan, text me the address, kay!” Oikawa chirped and hung up without waiting for a reply. Turning to go, he caught his reflection in the mirror, lips half-lifted in a smile, eyes too bright and happy for someone who was simply going to pick up a drunk idiot.

He exhaled, a sound of wane desperation and mild self-loathing, disappointment in himself because he would never learn. Not when it came to Iwaizumi.

. . .

“The best marketing manager in the world,” Iwaizumi was repeating to a bemused Suga when Oikawa turned onto the street that Suga had given him. Slowing his steps, Oikawa watched as Iwaizumi patted Suga’s shin, which was all he could reach from his seated position on the pavement.

“The best,” he asserted, “No one gets clients the way you do, you’re spect- splen-, you’re great.”

Suga nodded, obviously fighting a laugh as he checked his phone, one arm being used as a hand grip by a lady who was leaning against the lamppost.

Stepping up to the merry band, Oikawa's face was bathed in the pale light of the street lamps which flickered occasionally. From where he was on the curb, Iwaizumi gazed up at him as though he was a stranger.

“I hope you can walk, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa raised an eyebrow and then glanced down the street with some degree of uncertainty, "I'm strong but I'm not sure if I can carry you home."

Iwaizumi continued staring, eyes vaguely glazed over and blinking slowly, the way a child does when just waking up.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa prompted, offering a hand down to help his friend up.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” Iwaizumi breathed, eyes fixed on Oikawa's face, expression softer than Oikawa had ever seen, “It is the east,” his eyes focused, sharpened and held on Oikawa.

His face was flushed and his eyes were heavy lidded from the alcohol, but those hazel eyes never changed. They saw through Oikawa and pierced straight through, holding the setter like a butterfly pinned to a board. He had Oikawa, knew him better than anyone, saw through him all the time. Back when they were kids and now, Oikawa couldn’t and probably would never be able to escape the thrall of those eyes.

“It is the east,” Iwaizumi repeated, steadier this time, expression morphing into one of awe, joy and wonder, eyes never leaving Oikawa's, “And you, you are the sun.”

Oikawa felt his face warm from the unchecked adoration on Iwaizumi's face and hurriedly, he reached down to haul him up, resolutely ignoring Suga’s gaze.

“Iwa-chan, you're such a nerd,” he muttered, “Who quotes Shakespeare when they get drunk?” Tipping his head at Suga, he flashed a small and relatively genuine smile, “Thanks for the call, Suga-chan!”

“Goodnight, sunshine!” Suga threw a wink in with his jaunty wave and Oikawa was saved from having to retort when Iwaizumi stumbled, leaning most of his body weight on the taller man.

They weren’t far from home, it had been less than a fifteen minute walk for Oikawa so he didn’t think they needed to call a cab. But then he assessed the situation, with Iwaizumi practically hugging him around the waist, nose pressed to the nape of his neck and raising goosebumps everywhere, Oikawa wasn’t sure _he_ would survive the walk home.

Roughly twenty minutes later, they staggered into their apartment, Oikawa helping Iwaizumi sit down despite the urge to fling himself away and into the nearest corner so as to prevent any more embarrassing reactions from having his ace so close.

He’d barely held it together with Iwaizumi huddled into him the entire walk home, quoting literary things in breaks and snippets, his breath hot on the side of Oikawa’s neck and his strong arms slung around him and holding him so close that walking in a normal gait became difficult.

He was filling a glass of water for Iwaizumi when he heard the other mumbling and turning around he saw Iwaizumi, staring in his direction, eyes still a tad glassy.

“Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day,” Iwaizumi drawled, his eyes refocused and he fixed Oikawa with a doleful look, “I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.”

Setting the glass down in front of his tipsy best friend, Oikawa smiled fondly.

“Okay, Iwa-chan, drink this or you’ll feel worse in the morning.” Iwaizumi eyed the glass and then flicked his gaze back up to Oikawa who nodded encouragingly. With that, he gulped down the water, eyes never once leaving Oikawa and when he was done, he set the glass down a little too hard, making him wince and Oikawa crinkle his nose.

“Hey ‘ru, Tooru,” Iwaizumi’s hand reached to rest on Oikawa’s, one thumb gently stroking. He leaned in conspiratorially, his face grave and his eyes burning, smouldering and setting Oikawa on fire, “I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes and- and…”

He faltered and frowned, repeating the stanza to himself while Oikawa struggled to get it together because he’d honestly thought that he was above getting flustered when drunken poetry was being recited to him.

“Really, Iwa-chan,” he forced a chuckle, “I have no idea what you’re saying! Go to bed.”

He managed to bundle Iwaizumi off to bed even as he drunkenly muttered, “I walk within the brilliance of another’s thought, as in a glory” before swaddling himself in blankets and trying to regain some of the sleepiness that had been encroaching on him before he’d gotten the call.

_All day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps_

. . .

Hanamaki was lounging on their sofa the next morning, waiting for Oikawa to finish messing with his hair when Iwaizumi staggered out from his doorway looking worse for wear and in nothing but his boxers.

His head snapped up at Makki's low whistle before he winced, hand flying to his temple and eyes squeezing shut.

“Oh! Iwa-chan!” Oikawa exclaimed in a voice that was part cheer and mostly panic, “I'm going out for breakfast with Makki now. I wasn’t- I thought- I didn’t think you’d be up so soon. Um, you'll be okay on your own, right?”

A groan in response.

Something nudged his free hand and Iwaizumi pried his eyes open to see a glass of water and two painkillers being offered. With a grunt of thanks, he downed them gratefully and gave a semblance of a wave to Makki.

"Iwaizumi, do you have more than 24 hours in a day or do those abs and biceps just manifest on their own?" Their little shit of a friend grinned lazily, smile inching higher as he observed Oikawa's struggle to maintain a sudden onset of studied interest in the label of his hair spray.

“You want to come for breakfast?” Makki continued, ignoring the startled expression on Oikawa's face.

“I don’t think I’m alive enough yet,” Iwaizumi muttered, shaking his head slowly. Makki hopped up to put his shoes on before deciding that he needed to use the bathroom and disappeared down the hall.

“Iwa-chan, you should eat at least a little,” Iwaizumi turned when he heard Oikawa’s uncertain voice behind him and found him holding out one of his precious milk bread. An ache that started from his chest and spread out to take up residence in his fingertips filtered through Iwaizumi’s barely conscious state. He accepted the bread and then grasped Oikawa’s wrist before he could pull away, letting go when Oikawa looked sharply at him.

“Will you be home for dinner?” Toffee eyes widened, “I thought we should hang out and y’know, talk.”

Oikawa seemed to have gone rigid, eyes simmering as he fought to remain unperturbed.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you all week. We really need to talk,” Iwaizumi took that moment to press his forehead into the blessed coolness of their wall, missing the way Oikawa’s lips tightened before a placid expression slipped into place.

“Yeah,” Oikawa winced inwardly at how strangled he sounded so he tried again, “Yeah, let’s do dinner.”

Thankfully, Makki emerged and Oikawa all but dragged him out the door, throwing a bright, “Later, Iwa-chan!” behind him while Iwaizumi trudged back to bed, hoping to wake up feeling a little less like death.

. . .

_Dear Oikawa-san,_

_I write with great excitement and utmost joy because I just saw your televised interview and am beside myself with the notion that you might have someone or something as wonderful as Hitoshi is for Sukeru! Not to overstep my boundaries but my friends and I have always speculated on where you get your ideas from and to think that you have real-life encounters that are as sweet and romantic as those you depict! Or even better, a real Hitoshi to make you feel invincible! I must say, Oikawa-san, that I harboured rather strong feelings for you when I discovered your books, but I am extremely happy for you and wish you and your own Hitoshi the very best._

_Please continue writing more delightful stories for us!_

_Ardently yours,_

_Takahashi Yumi_

. . .

Switching the television on for white noise, Iwaizumi slumped on the couch, their stand fan whirring in rotations to ruffle jet black strands. More decently dressed than he had been earlier, he had tugged on a soft pullover that stated ‘I don’t believe in humans’ in block letters with a little alien head stitched into the corner. Technically it was his because Oikawa had bought it for him, but knowing how often Oikawa stole his clothes, he knew the sneaky bastard had probably partially bought it for himself. Now that he finally had some downtime, he could sort through a revelation that had been bugging him all week.

He'd been so wrapped up in work that what happened at the club a week ago had been pushed to a corner, left to be dealt with later. And yet, it had buzzed at the edges of every thought, and the instant he stopped focusing on work, he relived the warm press of Oikawa's lips on his own, the spread of long fingers along his neck and brushing his earlobe.

The memory that he had adamantly avoided had fermented into a dawning sort of feeling which he had all the more resolutely stuffed into a non-descript bag and bundled into a box in the back of his brain. There, it had boiled over and seeped out, random snapshots of that evening sprouting as wildflowers through the cracks in the pavement.

Brushing his teeth, he would be accosted by a recollection of the way Oikawa's breath, warm and tasting like tequila, had shivered over his skin, seconds before their lips had met. A flash of familiar smile, knowing and brilliant, radiant and clear in a sea of blurred darkness, had rudely popped up mid-meeting, filling his mind and robbing him of a good contribution to the discussion.

Despite the fact that he'd firmly ignored this nagging understanding all week, the thought had mutinied and taken shape all on its own, metamorphosing from a mere suggestion to full-blown comprehension so unmistakably true that it was practically a physical presence in his mind.

He was in love with his best friend.

He probably had been for a while, or maybe longer than just a while, and never even knew it. He’d always loved Oikawa, that he was aware of. But just as their friendship had slowly edged over the line of regular friends into a grey zone, somewhere along the line, he had fallen for Oikawa, tumbled in so gently that their friendship had only needed to shift slightly to accommodate his feelings.

In the way you learnt a new word and suddenly spotted it everywhere, in train stations and magazines, now that he realised he was in love with Oikawa, the affection folded itself tightly in his chest as he picked apart memories newly clarified. Now he understood why he could never stand to see Oikawa upset, why it was an instinctive urge to take care of him, to do anything and everything to make him smile. They had always been touchy, and it was a habit that had developed over time, but Iwaizumi always had the urge to reach for his best friend, loved the way his skin felt, was happiest when they were cuddled up on the couch watching bad movies.

At this point, Iwaizumi felt as though from the time he met Oikawa, he had been on a slope, sliding down at so glacier a pace that he never really knew that he was falling. Until he was here at the base of it, looking up at where he started and coming to terms with just how far gone he was for his best friend.

Iwaizumi wasn't usually hopeless in the romance department; he'd gone on dates in the past but they'd never really worked out. They'd all been too this or too that; now that he thought about it, ‘too much’ was a term used in relation to a set standard and his standard, he thought with an ironic smile, had always been Oikawa.

Did Oikawa know? Oikawa knew everything about him, Iwaizumi never could hide from those sharp eyes and even when he tried, all Oikawa had to do was ask, prying or pleading, and his resolve would crumble. Iwaizumi knew he couldn't say no to Oikawa and he knew Oikawa just as well. Except for why they had kissed that night, and why, when Iwaizumi had tilted his head to deepen the kiss, Oikawa had let out the most contented and yet, aching sigh he'd ever heard.

Maybe Oikawa knew that Iwaizumi was in love with him and had tried kissing him to test the waters. Iwaizumi frowned and quickly dismissed that notion because that didn't seem right, Oikawa would never be so cruel.

Had Oikawa not known and then acted on drunken impulse? Maybe it was just an alcohol induced mistake that he would brush away as soon as Iwaizumi brought it up. He could almost hear his overly bright voice, layered with the perfect amount of sleek confidence and tinged with careless flippancy. The airy laugh that he used to deflect a topic and draw attention to something else, seamlessly manipulating the conversation his way.

In fact, he could actually hear Oikawa's voice, as though his imagination had generated a real life simulation right there in the living room. Sheer force of habit nearly had Iwaizumi glancing behind him at Oikawa's room but he was fairly sure he had seen him leave with Makki earlier. So why...

Remnants of the hangover clouded his mind as his brain worked sluggishly to sort through the possibilities until he decided to simply follow the source of the familiar voice and traced it to the television. Distant voices in the background that had been white noise earlier distilled through Iwaizumi's thoughts into slow clarification as two figures onscreen chatted away.

Almost immediately, Iwaizumi identified it as a rerun of Oikawa's television interview. He knew because he had recorded the actual airing of it while at work and it was sitting in his thumb drive, waiting for him to pry away some free time to sit down and watch it.

Increasing the volume, Iwaizumi watched the familiar figure wave his hand gracefully as he spoke and he squinted a little, lips quirking up as he spotted the stubborn little caramel cowlick that even the hairstylist, it seemed, could not tame.

“- it's always humbling to know how much my fans love my manga and it always gives me extra motivation to keep going even on days when the creativity juices are running a little dry!” Oikawa grinned, a perfect smile that was both winsome and bashful, one that Iwaizumi had watched him practise for years.

“Speaking of your fans,” the interviewer, a stylish man with blue streaks who would look intimidatingly put together were it not for the way he was staring at Oikawa in a vaguely awed manner, “There have been a couple of fan theories about your personal love life.”

To anyone else watching, Oikawa's grin widened but Iwaizumi saw the signs of strain at the corners of his mouth, out-dazzled by the glittering smile.

“I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint here,” his voice was honeyed, cloying, “There's no love life to speak of, although maybe Sato-san has some recommendations for me?” He winked cheekily at the camera, playful and boyish.

For a second, Iwaizumi thought that the wink had been an effective distraction because the interviewer looked as though he had momentarily ascended but was slightly impressed when he gathered himself and pressed further.

“Then where do you get your inspiration from? Your nickname, The Grand King of Romance is hardly undeserved and readers have pointed out that a main draw of your work is that the scenarios are always pretty realistic, true to life and relatable. Surely there's got to be somewhere you draw your inspiration from,” Sato probed.

“The world is my inspiration!” Oikawa exclaimed, his face so radiant that Iwaizumi nearly, _nearly_ missed the flash of annoyance that flew across his visage.

“Alright,” Sato agreed easily, “But in this interview in 2018, you mentioned a muse for your work. You said, and I quote, “someone who shows me what love could be in every stage and facet of life”. Now now, Oikawa-san, don't be shy and do tell us who this mystery muse is.”

Oikawa's face was a mask; Iwaizumi could tell he was panicking although on the surface he was nothing but a picture of easy smiles and cool charm. He could pick out the steel in fawn eyes and the way Oikawa's back straightened fractionally, knowing that the other was running through strategies and probably plotting murder.

In his seat at home, Iwaizumi shifted uncomfortably, had Oikawa been seeing someone and not told him about it? _He wouldn't have_, he argued against himself rationally, _he would have told me or I would have known._

_But what if?_ A tiny voice inside him breathed_. What if?_

Swallowing, Iwaizumi turned the volume even louder, drumming his fingers on his lap as he anticipated his best friend's answer.

“Oh, that!” Oikawa said cheerily, “Well, yes, I do have a muse of sorts.”

“So there is someone!” Both Sato and Iwaizumi edged forward in their seats, the interviewer with a hungry expression while Iwaizumi watched his best friend's face with rapt concentration.

“Not in the way you think, Sato-san,” Oikawa replied silkily, “In my manga, Hitoshi's winning quality has always been the quiet reliability of his love. In the same way, my muse is simply a sort of constant, my life has many changing factors but a constant is always comforting don't you think?”

Sato opened his mouth and then paused, blinking, unable to parse the response, just as Oikawa had hoped. Seizing the opportunity, Oikawa flashed another stunning smile before continuing.

“Just as the act of coming home after a long day of work or having your favourite ramen after a bad day is a comfort, my muse is the notion of constancy. Comfort in the chaos,” Oikawa grinned triumphantly.

There were follow up questions but Iwaizumi wasn't listening anymore. He knew the tone that Oikawa had used to answer that bout of questions. He'd heard it maybe once or twice before but he knew it all the same.

_“My knee doesn't really hurt, it kinda just feels a little weird, maybe a small strain. It's nothing to worry about. It's the storm before a rainbow, just a little glitch before everything comes together.”_

His throat closed, because the last time he'd heard Oikawa use that manner of speaking, he had glossed over his knee issues until it was too late to fix them. It wasn't very different from his usual tone of deflection but coupled with a careful manoeuvre that allowed him to barely skirt around answering the question while making the asker feel as though they'd gotten an answer, it was instantly recognisable.

“A constant,” Iwaizumi repeated under his breath, running a hand through his sleep rumpled hair. His heart was thudding in his ears, because surely he couldn't be this unlucky. To find out that Oikawa really had a lover on the same morning that Iwaizumi came to terms with his own love for him was too cruel a joke for the universe to play.

He shot to his feet and headed straight for Oikawa's room. He'd never actually read Oikawa's manga because it wasn't really his genre and Oikawa never seemed bothered. He'd always done his best to be supportive in every other way and they both knew that if Oikawa _had_ pressed, Iwaizumi would have sat down and read every single one cover to cover.

Now, Iwaizumi haphazardly yanked an issue off Oikawa's shelf and flipped to a random page, praying that he could scour it for clues. He was confronted with a familiar drawing style, one that had followed him from middle school into high school in the form of doodles that decorated his notes and textbooks.

Skimming through several pages, he paused and then rifled through the pages until he found a panel with the two main characters. Soundlessly, his lips shaped "Hitoshi" as his finger traced the text bubble, his other hand gripping the book so hard that distantly he worried that it would rip.

With a feverish sense of desperation, hope and fear, he picked out another book and opened it randomly, eyes flying across the page until he halted at a scene, his heart nearly halting as well.

The girl in the comic, Sukeru, was huddled in bed, clearly upset although Iwaizumi didn’t have a good enough grasp of the plot to know why. The next panel showed a boy, Iwaizumi recognised him as Hitoshi from the previous issue, climbing in through her window, a bag pack slung over his shoulders.

Iwaizumi wavered where he stood as the image of Hitoshi blurred with his memories of an eighteen year old Iwaizumi, climbing into Oikawa’s room in the dead of the night. Holding his breath, he scrutinised the girl’s room, realising with some slight amusement and surprise that although she had band and movie posters up for decor, their placement on walls and the table was exactly the same as Oikawa’s alien merchandise back in his room in his childhood home.

He couldn’t read fast enough as he devoured the scene, a scene in which everything from the clothes to the room to the care package seemed too familiar. Involuntarily, Iwaizumi was catapulted back to a dark room, his senses overwhelmed by a scent that was unmistakably Oikawa, cold hands gripping his and a hushed conversation that was echoed in the pages in his hands.

Numbly, he put that issue down and picked up another, trying to stay calm, telling himself _it could be a coincidence_.

Then he froze.

A scene depicting the two protagonists at the movies, with Hitoshi wordlessly handing his jacket to a cold Sukeru despite her not having said anything. Peering at the page, he sucked in a breath as he confirmed the detail that had initially caught his eye.

There, on the corner of Hitoshi’s jacket was a little alien head that, Iwaizumi glanced swiftly down to check, was identical to the one embellished on his pullover. It was even in the same place, on the bottom right hand corner of it, although Hitoshi’s jacket didn’t have the same wordings, but still.

This was the pullover that Iwaizumi brought for Oikawa every single time they went to a movie together because he knew two things. One, that Oikawa got cold easily but never brought his own jacket, and two, that this was Oikawa’s favourite pullover out of all the outerwear Iwaizumi owned.

On it went, Iwaizumi poured over the manga, uncovering tidbit after tidbit that Oikawa had woven in in the steady course of three years.

Before his eyes, the characters faltered and merged into his memories: Hitoshi slipped off uncomfortable dress shoes to reveal blisters that Iwaizumi had gotten that day Oikawa had stalked out of an event, all rage and no explanations.

Iwaizumi had walked silently beside his fuming best friend for close to an hour before Oikawa finally started ranting about what had agitated him, his pace gradually slowing as the words tumbled out of his mouth, completely forgetting that Iwaizumi had yet to break his shoes in. Oikawa had been aghast when Iwaizumi finally pulled his shoes off on a park bench later on, when the crisis had passed and the creeping pain of his bloodied blisters took over. He had very nearly gotten upset all over again, this time at himself, until Iwaizumi had assured him that it was no big deal and they’d meandered into lighter conversation.

When Hitoshi presented Sukeru with a failed version of macarons, her favourite food, they were riddled with slight variations of the flaws found in Iwaizumi’s sad attempts at milk bread. Oikawa had been somewhat delighted to find that while Iwaizumi was the better cook out of the pair, his baking was dismal to say the least. Nevertheless, Oikawa had scarfed down burnt and salty milk bread with the same gusto that Sukeru displayed in reaction to Hitoshi’s baking.

_Coincidence? Or not?_

Close to two hours later, Iwaizumi surged out of the house, whatever was left of the hangover chased away by a long shower and his heart pounding in time to a flurry of manga panels flashing in his mind. He dialled Makki first, already walking to the train station, half guessing where he might be headed but not completely sure.

“Hey, is Oikawa with you?”

“Nope, he left after brunch,” Makki sounded vaguely cautious, “Why? Weren’t you two supposed to have dinner?”

“Yeah, but I want to- I have something to ask him and it can’t wait,” Iwaizumi checked the board on the train platform before stepping into a carriage.

“Oh,” His friend sounded more gleeful than anything now, “_Oh._ Well, he mentioned not wanting to head home yet so he’s probably still out in the city.”

“Thanks, Makki. Text me if you hear from him, okay?” Iwaizumi hung up and weighed his options, trying to anticipate where Oikawa would head to.

He tried Oikawa’s favourite bookstore first, followed by the stationary shop that the manga artist liked to frequent despite complaining that the supplies there were too expensive.

It was late afternoon when he burst into Yachi’s ice cream parlour only to see Yachi shove back the chair she was sitting on so hard that it toppled and fell over.

“I-Iwaizumi-san!” she squealed, her cheeks pinker than ever. Across the table from where she had been sitting, and unmoving from her elegant, yet relaxed position, was Shimizu Kiyoko.

“Shimizu-san, Yachi-san,” Iwaizumi made swift bows before hesitating, “It’s a weekend, Shimizu-san, did you go back to the office for anything urgent?”

His editor allowed a mysterious smile to curve on her lips.

“No, after you recommended this ice cream parlour to me, I decided to check it out after work and it’s been such a lovely experience that I find myself returning more and more often.” She turned her smile in all its radiance onto Yachi who looked like she might implode.

“Please enjoy your ice cream,” Iwaizumi made another short bow before directing his attention to Yachi, “I’m sorry, but has Oikawa come in here today?”

Yachi blinked before nodding slowly.

“He came in about an hour ago but he kind of just stared at the flavours for a while. And when I asked him if he wanted to try anything he apologised for not being in the mood for ice cream and left,” Yachi recounted, looking confused, “Is he alright?”

She clapped her hands over her mouth before Iwaizumi could answer, looking mildly horrified.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy! I just was worried!”

“No, no, we’re lucky to have your concern,” Iwaizumi smiled gently at her, “I need to go but hopefully we’ll be back soon enough. Enjoy your day, Yachi-san, Shimizu-san.”

As a last resort, he tried the community gym where they played volleyball with some of their friends in the neighbourhood, half expecting to see Oikawa practising his serves. They’d not gone professional because of Oikawa’s knee injury, but they never stopped playing. Even when Oikawa had gotten his big break as a manga shoujo artist, Iwaizumi knew that volleyball would always be his, or rather, their, first love.

Checking his watch, he swore because it was almost dinnertime, he still hadn’t found Oikawa and he had been meaning to cook but there wasn’t any time to go grocery shopping. Resigning himself to takeout, he trudged home and did his best to formulate a coherent line of thought from the chaotic urgency that had been driving him all afternoon.

Stepping out of the lift and into the corridor, he halted upon seeing a familiar figure right outside their door. The head of tousled cinnamon brown waves that he’d been searching for all this while was leaned against their front door, and in the dim light of the passageway, he made out a solemn look on the shadowed angle of Oikawa’s face.

“Are you trying to open the door with your mind?” Iwaizumi asked, sending Oikawa a foot into the air as he leapt in surprise, “Or are you just not coming home on purpose?”

He watched as Oikawa’s face flew from bafflement to guilt, passed through panic and settled on indignant defensiveness.

“What are you doing out here?” Oikawa asked sounding curious and dismayed all at once, “Weren’t we going to have dinner at home?”

“I was looking for you,” Iwaizumi said simply, pulling his keys out, “Let’s go in and talk.”

As they stepped in, Oikawa took a deep breath, trying to brace himself for the conversation he’d been dreading all week. Dropping his keys in the small dish by the door, he took a deep breath, fixing his eyes on a coffee stain on the table. If he had to look at Iwaizumi, he wouldn’t be able to go through with this, so it was best if he just said it before he lost his nerve. _Just do it fast, rip it off like a band-aid._

“Last week was a mistake.”

“Are you in love with me?”

Oikawa spun around so fast he nearly lost his balance and the pair stared at each other as they processed each other’s words. Then in unison:

“Wait, what?”

“Hang on,” Iwaizumi held a hand up, backpedalling and trying desperately to figure out if he had misjudged the whole thing, “What are you saying?”

“No, you go first,” Oikawa crossed his arms, trying to seem calm although he could hear his heartbeat thudding into a roar in his ears.

Iwaizumi drew in a breath to decline, to ask for a chance to regroup and go over his evidence again but then decided that no, he couldn’t be wrong – he didn’t _want _to be wrong.

“Your manga,” he paused, trying to find a way to phrase it and then deciding there was no good way to phrase it, “It’s us, isn’t it?” The shock that flared in Oikawa’s eyes confirmed everything without him having to even open his mouth and even though Iwaizumi had been almost a hundred percent certain, knowing that it was true felt as though someone had unscrewed his knees and that he very much needed to sit down.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa started, the surprise in his eyes quickly morphing into terror, “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t- When I first started it was more of an experiment but then it was so well-received and you never read them so I just. I know I shouldn’t have but, but…” He trailed off, anguish lining his features as he hung his head.

Iwaizumi never really believed in love the way Oikawa did, the way it was all brilliant romance and sugar-sweet adoration and all that shoujo manga was made of. Except here he was, discovering that his life had somehow effortlessly become the nation’s bestselling love story, that Oikawa had taken the love that Iwaizumi had unwittingly been bleeding from every possible facet of his life and revealed it as exactly what it was, a romance.

“Do you want it to be us or did you just base it on us?” From the look Oikawa gave him, Iwaizumi knew he was going to have to be clearer than that and flushed a little, “Did you want us to be in love or did you just think that I- we- I acted like someone who was in love?”

At that, Oikawa turned an even darker shade of crimson than Iwaizumi had, fiddled with the hem of his shirt and whispered an inaudible string of words.

“What?” Iwaizumi took a step nearer, so close that his toes were just centimetres away from Oikawa’s.

“You idiot,” Oikawa gritted out, “I _said_, of course I wanted us to be together, I’m so in love with you I have an award-winning manga based purely on wishful thinking that you don’t just think of me platonically. It’s sad and pathetic and I understand if you don’t feel the same and I just want us to stay the way we are, it’s _fine_. Is that what you want me to say?”

Iwaizumi looked at his best friend, close enough to kiss, close enough that he could pick out the flecks of melted amber in his blazing brown eyes. It was in that split second that he was struck by how much time they had lost, how many opportunities they had missed, he had missed.

“Oikawa,” he started, the emotion swelling in his chest and threatening to seep out in either helpless laughter or frustrated tears, “You’re the idiot.”

Said idiot’s eyes narrowed but Iwaizumi shook his head.

“You were right,” Iwaizumi said firmly as Oikawa eyed him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, “It’s not wishful thinking. You depicted us exactly the way we are and the whole world could see that we’re two idiots in love. Except you. And me.”

Oikawa’s eyes began to widen, he started shaking his head as he searched Iwaizumi’s face for signs that he was lying.

“Do you need me to say it?” Iwaizumi asked, gentler than he’d ever been because he had been a fool the entire time and Oikawa was the one who had had to suffer for it, “It’s not fiction, Hitoshi is in love with Sukeru because I’m in love with you. I’m sorry I took so long to realise, I didn’t know until last week and even then-”

“You don’t have to say it like that, if that’s not the way it feels for you,” Oikawa cut him off, speaking slowly with his eyebrows knitted, “I’ve always made it out to be this huge, monumental thing because to me, that’s what loving you feels like; it feels like everything that is probably impossible to feel but I feel it anyway because of you.”

He looked at Iwaizumi straight in the eye, toffee meeting hazel, brimming with passion.

“I know that for you, love might not feel the way it’s portrayed in media,” he grinned, “But that’s okay because everyone feels love differently and it doesn’t have to be the great thing that society makes it out to be. It just has to be real.”

Iwaizumi had never felt more as though he had shot himself in his own foot.

“Yes, but no. I’m right and you’re right. It’s all the small things and yet, it feels- it feels immense,” Iwaizumi reached out to grip Oikawa’s shoulders, voice bridging on desperate, “Oikawa. Tooru, are you kidding me? I get to love you. _I get to love you_ and if I can do that for the rest of my life it’ll be the greatest thing I ever do.”

Oikawa’s mouth fell open and he blinked several times, digesting even as disbelief and relief spread across his face.

“Iwa-chan,” he whispered, “You mean…”

“Yes, I mean, you dumbass,” Iwaizumi hands slid up from Oikawa’s shoulders to cup his setter’s face, his hands as gentle as his voice was rough, “I mean I’m stupid in love with you just as you’re stupid in love with me and we were too stupid in love to realise any of it. This is the part in shoujo mangas that they kiss and promise to be together forever.”

Oikawa breathed out something between a laugh and a sigh at that and it was all it took for the heavy tension that had been curling inside Iwaizumi for the past week to up and flee. Being in love with his best friend was new and different but because it was Oikawa, it was, to Iwaizumi, almost achingly natural.

_We’ll be okay because it’s us_.

“I already told you that I want to love you for the rest of my life and make up for all the time we lost,” Iwaizumi was barely audible, his voice pitched just for Oikawa to hear, “This is the part you tell me if you’re cool with that so I can kiss you already.”

By the way his lips twitched, Iwaizumi could tell that Oikawa wanted to complain he was being unromantic. Even if he had, Iwaizumi knew it would have been an empty jibe from the way tiny droplets had gathered in the corners of smiling eyes, threatening to blossom into pearls. Oikawa beamed at Iwaizumi, sweeter and happier than he had ever seen him before, as the other man grinned back, just as wide and wiping tears away with his thumbs.

“I’m cool with it,” Oikawa murmured, “So hurry up and kiss me already.”

. . .

**From a 2018 email interview draft:**

Your answers to this question have always been very vague so I'll try my luck. What inspired you to produce Invincible with You?

_ <strike>Sometimes I think I started writing this story because my heart was so full of the love I was shown that I couldn't contain it. I think there were moments that I felt so brilliantly happy that it was overflowing, I had to share it. I wanted everyone to feel this. I'm constantly given a love that makes me indescribably happy and this story was a way in which I could give readers just a little piece of that joy.</strike> _

<strike> __ </strike> _Someone who shows me what love could be in every stage and facet of life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO Sukeru and Hitoshi share the same kanji as Tooru and Hajime respectively, they’re variations of them (I hope I’m getting this right) – So effectively, Oiks named his characters after them and Hajime would have known after seeing the names. ^^ There are many loopholes but let's just suspend disbelief, shall we?
> 
> QUOTES ARE from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet ( a bit adapted), and Pablo Neruda’s Sonnet XI in order of recitation, and the very last one is by Thomas Lovell Beddoes and it starts: “Love? Do I love?” I’m ded.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I had fun doing this. Like Oikawa, I hope I was able to give you a little piece of joy as well~
> 
> Edit: Y'all yujidoodles did a [super cute piece](https://honestlyprettyconfused.tumblr.com/post/620488202156982272/redroseinsanity-yujidoodles-heres-a-little) of Iwa climbing into Oiks' room from the manga scene!

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think~
> 
> Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://redroseinsanity.tumblr.com/)


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